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La  Comedie  Humaine 

of 

Honore  de  Balzac 

I. 

Scenes  From  Private  Life 
Volume  L 


n 


} Guess  what  / bring  you,’  said  Eugene,  sitting  down 
bhside  her  and  lifting  her  arm  that  he  might  kiss 


Fk;jtE  GO^ZIOT 

MARRI  AGE 
CQNTRAC 


ua  TLE  : 

I\ND'COn?:V-  -v 

^ B05T0N  / 


? 


Copyright^  1885^  1895, 1896, 

By  Roberts  Brothers. 


/ill  rights  reserved. 


52,! 

LWSl 

PREFACE.* 


In  giving  to  a work,  begun  nearly  thirteen  years  ago,  the 
title  of  “ The  Comedy  of  Human  Life,’’  it  is  necessary  that 
I should  state  its  purpose,  relate  its  origin,  and  give  some 
explanation  of  its  plan ; endeavoring  to  do  so  as  if  I had  no 
personal  interest  in  the  matter.  This  is  not  as  difficult  as  the 
public  might  imagine.  The  writing  of  a few  books  makes  a 
man  self-sufficient;  but  much  labor  and  hard  toil  bring  hu- 
mility. This  reflection  explains  the  survey  which  Corneille, 
Moliere,  and  other  great  authors  made  of  their  writings.  If 
it  is  impossible  to  equal  them  in  the  grandeur  of  their  con- 
ceptions, at  least  we  may  share  the  spirit  with  which  they 
examined  them. 

The  leading  idea  of  this  human  comedy  came  to  me  at 
first  like  a dream ; like  one  of  those  impossible  visions  which 
we  try  to  clasp  as  they  elude  us ; a smiling  fancy  showing  for 
a moment  a woman’s  face,  as  it  spreads  its  wings  and  rises 
. to  the  ideal  heavens.  But  soon  this  vision,  this  chimera, 
changed,  after  the  fashion  of  chimeras,  into  a living  shape 
with  compelling  will  and  tyrannous  power,  to  which  I yielded 
( myself  up.  The  idea  came  from  the  study  of  human  life  in 
comparison  with  the  life  of  animals. 

1 This  preface,  written  forty-three  years  ago,  is  placed  here  to  give 
Balzac’s  own  interpretation  of  his  books.  Without  it  they  will  not  be 
is  , fully  understood.  His  letters,  published  after  his  death,  reveal  in  like 
manner  the  man  himself,  his  wonderful  method  of  work,  and  the  sin 
cerity  of  this  preface. 


VI 


Preface. 


It  is  a mistake  to  suppose  that  the  controversy  which  in 
these  latter  days  has  arisen  between  Cuvier  and  Geoftroy 
Saint-Hilaire  rests  upon  a scientific  innovation.  Synthetic 
unity  filled,  under  various  definitions,  the  greatest  minds  of 
the  two  preceding  centuries.  In  reading  the  strange  books 
of  those  mystical  writers  who  drew  science  into  their  concep- 
tions of  the  infinite, —such  as  Swedenborg,  Saint-Martin, 
and  others;  also  the  writings  of  the  great  naturalists,  Leib- 
nitz, Bufion,  Charles  Bonnet,  etc.,  — we  find  in  the  monads  of 
Leibnitz,  in  the  organic  molecules  of  Buffon,  in  the  vegetative 
force  of  Needham,  in  the  encasement  of  germs  of  Charles 
Bonnet,  who  was  bold  enough  to  write  in  1760,  “ animal  life 
vegetates  like  plant  life,”  — we  find,  I say,  the  rudiments  of 
that  sjrong^l^QiseH-jpi’eservation^on_\^^ 

^qry  of  synthetic  unity.  There  is  but  one  animal.  The  Cre- 
fatofliseTone  a^^  same  principle  for  all  organized  being, 
i An  animal  is  an  essence  which  takes  external  form,  or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  takes  the  differences  of  its  form  from 
• the  centres  or  conditions  in  which  it  comes  to  its  develop- 
I ment.  All  zoological  species  grow  out  of  these  differences. 

I The  announcement  and  pursuit  of  this  theory,  keeping  it^  as 
\ he  did  in  harmony  with  preconceived  ideas  of  the  Divine 
' power,  will  be  the  lasting  glory  of  ^eoffroy  Saint-Hilaire,  the 
Conqueror  of  Cuvier  in  this  particuto  BrancTors^ence,  — 
a fact  recognized  by  the  great  Goethe  in  the  last  words  which 
came  from  his  pen. 

Filled  with  these  ideas,  I had  perceived,  long  before  this 
discussion  arose,  that  Society  in  these  respects  is  like  Natuie. 
Society  makesjlmiiian;  he  das£lops_acc^ingJp  the_^^ 
^ghtres''1ffwhich^^  is  placed:  there  are  as  many  different 
meiraFth'^^re^ecre^  The  differences  between 

a soldier,  a workman,  a governor,  a lawyer,  a man  of  leisure,  a 
scholar,  a statesman,  a merchant,  a sailor,  a poet,  a beggar,  a 
priest,  though  more  difficult  to  decipher,  are  at  least  as  marked 
as  those  which  separate  the  wolf,  the  lion,  the  ass,  the  ciow, 


Preface, 


vii 


the  shark,  the  seal,  the  lamb,  etc.  There  have  always  been, 
and  always  will  be,  social  species  just  as  there  are  zoological 
species.  If  Bufton  achieved  a great  work  when  he  put  together 
in  one  book  the  whole  scheme  of  zoology,  is  there  not  a work 
of  the  same  kind  to  be  done  for  Society  ? Nature  imposes 
upon  the  animal  kingdom  limitations  which  do  not  bind  the 
social  realm.  When  Button  had  described  a lion,  he  could  dis- 
miss the  lioness  with  a word ; but  in  the  world  of  men,  woman 
is  far  from  being  the  female  of  the  male., ^ Two  species  of  man- 
kind may  exist  in  one  household:  the  wife  of  a shopkeeper 
is  sometimes  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a prince ; often  the  wife  of 
a prince  is  unworthy  to  be  the  companion  of  the  meanest 
laborer.  The  Social  kingdom  has  uncertainties  and  acci- 
dents which  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  natural  world,  for  it 
is  itself  Nature  j)lus  Society.  Any  description  of  the  social 
species,  consequently,  doubles  all  description  oLihe^animal 
species  in  the  matter 

Moreover,  among  animals  there  is  no  drama,  no  current  of 
events  to  excite  and  move  them;  the  circumstances  of  their 
life  are  not  confusing;  they  attack  each  other,  and  that  is  all. 
Men  attack  each  other  in  like  manner,  but  their  greater  or 
lesser  intelligence  renders  the  struggle  far  more  complicated. 
If  some  scientific  men  do  not  yet  admit  that  the  animal  world 
is  transfused  into  the  human  world  by  the  current  of  the 
original  principle  of  life,  it  is  at  least  certain  that  a grocer 
can  become  peer  of  France,  and  a noble  may  fall  to  the  lowest 
social  stratum.  Further  than  this:  Buffon  found  the  life  of 
animals  extremely  simple.  They  have  no  belongings,  neither 
arts  nor  sciences  ^while  man,  by  a law  still  unexplained,  feels 
the  need  to  set  the  stamp  of  his  habits,  his  thoughts,  his  be- 
ing,  upon  all  that  he  collects  to  meet  his  wants,  j Though 
Leuwenhoec,  Swammerdam,  Spallanzani,  Reaumur,  Charles 
Bonnet,  Muller,  Haller,  and  other  patient  zoologists  proclaim 
the  interest  which  attaches  to  the  habits  of  animals,  yet  to 
our  eyes  at  least  they  remain  perpetually  the  same;  whereas 


Vlll 


Preface, 


the  habits,  clothing,  methods  of  speech,  the  abodes  of  princes, 
bankers,  artists,  citizens,  priests,  and  paupers,  are  all  widely 
dissimilar,  and  change  with  the  whims  of  civilization. 

For  these  reasons  my  ideal  woi^ook  on  a triple  form, — 
men,  women,  and  things’;  that  is  to  say,  persons  and  the 
m^aterial  representation  which  they  gave  to  their  being:  in 
short,  man  and  his  life. 

In  reading  the  dry  and  sapless  dictionaries  of  facts  which 
are  called  history,  who  does  not  feel  that  the  writers  of  all 
epochs  — Egyptian,  Persian,  Grecian,  Roman  — have  for- 
gotten to  give  us  the  vital  history  of  manners  and  customs? 
That  fragment  of  Petronius  upon  the  private  life  of  Rome 
provokes  more  curiosity  than  it  satisfies.  It  was  a sense  of 
this  enormous  void  in  the  history  of  the  world  that  led  the 
Abbe  Barthelemy  to  spend  his  life  in  reproducing  Grecian 
manners  by  his  “ Anacharsis.” 

But  how  was  it  possible  to  bring  within  the  compass  of  a 
reader’s  interest  the  three  or  four  thousand  personages  who 
form  Society?  How  could  I satisfy  at  one  and  the  same 
time  the  poets,  the  philosophers,  and  the  multitude  who  must 
have  their  poetry  and  their  philosophy  presented  to  them 
under  salient  forms?  However  just  my  conception  of  the 
dignity  ^and  the  poetry  of  this  history  of  the  human  heart 
might  be,  I could  see  no  way  to  put  it  into  execution.  Up 
to  our  own  time  all  celebrated  tellers  of  tales  had  spent 
their  talent  on  creating  two  or  three  typical  characters,  or 
in  painting  some  one  limited  aspect  of  human  life. 

Thus  thinking,  I turned  to  the  works  of  Walter  Scott. 
Walter  Scott,  the  troubadour  of  modern  times,  had  then  just 
placed  the  imprint  of  his  wondrous  method  upon  a species  of 
composition  hitherto  unjustly  rated  as  secondary.  Is  it  not 
far  more  difficult  to  enter  the  lists  against  ordinary  life  with 
Daphne  and  Chloe,  Roland,  Amadis,  Panurge,  Don  Quixote, 
Manon  Lescaut,  Clarissa  Harlowe,  Lovelace,  Robinson  Crusoe, 
Gil  Bias,  Ossian,  Julie  d’Etanges,  My  Uncle  Toby,  Werther, 


Preface. 

• 

Rene,  Corinne,  Paul  and  Virginia,  Jeanie  Deans,  Claver- 
house,  Ivanhoe,  Manfred,  Mignon,  than  to  put  in  order  his- 
torical facts  which  are  much  the  same  in  all  nations,  or  search 
out  the  meaning  of  laws  long  fallen  into  disuse ; to  revive  for- 
gotten  theories  that  once  led  nations  astray,  or  explain,  like 
certain  metaphysicians,  the  secret  of  the  things  that  be?  In 
the  first  place,  nearly  all  these  characters,  whose  lives  are 
longer  and  far  more  vital  than  those  of  the  generation  in 
which  they  were  born,  live  only  so  far  as  they  are  allied  to 
the  life  of  the  present  day.  Conceived  in  the  womb  of  their 
century,  the  human  heart  within  them  beats  for  all  time,  and 
holds  in  many  instances  the  germ  of  a philosophy.  Walter 
Scott  raised  to  the  philosophical  value  of  history  that  form  of 
literature  which  from  age  to  age  has  starred  with  immortal 
gems  the  poetic  crown  of  nations  where  letters  and  the  arts 
are  cultivated.  He  put  into  it  the  mind  of  the  days  of  old; 
he  brought  together  drama,  dialogue,  portraiture,  description, 
scenery,  the.  supernatural  with  the  natural, — two  elements 
of  his  epoch;  and  side  by  side  with  poesy  and  majesty  he 
placed  the  familiarities  of  the  humblest  speech.  Yet  with  all 
this  he  did  not  so  much  conceive  a system,  as  find  a method 
in  the  inspiration  of  his  work,  or  in  the  logic  of  it;  and  thus 
he  never  dreamed  of  binding  his  compositions  one  to  another 
as  a complete  history,  of  which  each  chapter  should  be  a ro- 
mance, and  each  romance  an  epoch. 

In  perceiving  this  lack  of  unity,  which  nevertheless  does 
not  render  the  great  Scotchman  less  great,  I came  to  see  the 
system  under  which  I ought  to  execute  my  idea,  and  also  the 
possibility  of  executing  it.  Though  dazzled,  so  to  speak,  by 
the  amazing  fecundity  of  Walter  Scott,  who  is  always  in  har- 
mony with  himself  and  always  original,  I was  not  disheart- 
ened; for  I knew  that  this  faculty  grew  out  of  the  infinite  va- 
riety of  human  life.  Chance  is  the  great  romance-maker  of 
the  ages : we  have  only  to  study  it  if  we  seek  to  be  fertile  in 
representation. 


X 


Preface. 


Society  as  it  exists  in  France  was  therefore  to  be  the  his- 
torian ; I was  to  be  its  secretary.  In  drawing  up  the  inven- 
tory of  its  virtues  and  its  vices,  in  collecting  the  facts  of  its 
manifold  passions,  in  picturing  its  characters,  in  choosing 
its  leading  events,  in  constructing  types  by  putting  together 
traits  of  homogeneous  natures,  I might  perhaps  attain  to  the 
writing  of  that  history  forgotten  by  historians,  — the  history 
of  manners  and  the  ways  of  life.  By  the  exercise  of  much 
patience  and  much  courage  I might  hope  to  accomplish  for 
France  of  the  nineteenth  century  what  Rome,  Athens,  Tyre, 
Memphis,  Persia,  India,  had  unhappily  failed  to  bestow  upon 
their  civilizations,  — a work  such  as  the  patient  and  cour- 
ageous Monteil,  following  the  example  of  the  Abbe  Barthe- 
lemy,  had  endeavored,  but  with  little  attraction,  to  accomplish 
for  the  Middle  Ages. 

This,  however,  was  not  all.  A writer  who  placed  before 
his  mind  the  duty  of  exact  reproduction  might  become  a 
painter  of  human  types  more  or  less  faithful,  successful, 
courageous,  and  patient;  he  might  be  the  annalist  of  the 
dramas  of  private  life,  the  archaeologist  of  the  social  fabric, 
the  sponsor  of  trades  and  professions,  the  registrar  of  good 
and  evil. . And  yet,  to  merit  the  applause  at  which  all  artists 
should  aim,  ought  he  not  also  to  study  the  reasons  — or  the 
reason  — of  the  conditions  of  social  life ; ought  he  not  to  seize 
the  hidden  meaning  of  this  vast  accretion  of  beings,  of  pas- 
sions, of  events  ? Finally,  having  sought  — I will  not  say 
found  — this  reason,  this  social  mainspring,  was  he  not  bound 
to  study  natural  law,  and  discover  why  and  when  Society  ap- 
proached or  swerved  away  from  the  eternal  principles  of 
truth  and  beauty  ? Notwithstanding  the  range  of  these 
premises,  which  in  themselves  would  fill  a volume,  the  work 
in  its  entirety  should  be  shown  to  have  a final  meaning. 
Thus  depicted.  Society  might  be  made  to  wear  upon  its  brow 
the  reasons  of  its  being. 

The  law  of  the  writer,  — that  which  makes  him  a teacher 


Preface. 


XI 


of  men;  that  which,  I presume  to  say,  renders  him  the  equal 
and  even  the  superior  of  the  statesman,  — is  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  human  affairs  with  a single  eye  to  their  originat- 
ing causes.  Machiavelli,  Hobbes,  Bossuet,  Leibnitz,  Kant, 
Montesquieu,  divulge  the  science  which  statesmen  apply. 

“ A writer  should  have  fixed  opinions  in  ethics  and  in 
politics  ; he  should  regard  himself  as  an  instructor  : and 
mankind  does  not  need  to  be  instructed  how  to  doubt,’’ 
said  Boriald.  I took  these  noble  words  early  to  heart  as  the 
rule  of  my  work : they  are  the  law  of  all  monarchical  writers. 
Therefore  when  my  critics  quote  me  against  myself,  it  will  be 
found  that  they  have  misunderstood  some  irony,  or  distorted 
to  my  injury  some  saying  of  my  personages,  — a trick  not 
uncommon  among  calumniators.  As  for  the  inward  meaning, 
the  soul  of  my  work,  the  following  principles  are  the  founda- 
tion on  which  it  rests : — ^ 

Man  is  neither  good  nor  bad;  he  is  born  with  instincts  and  , 
capacities.  Society,  far  from  depraving  him,  as  Rousseau 
asserts,  perfects  and  lifts  him  higher;  but  self-interest  in- 
terposes, and  develops  his  evil  tendencies.  Christianity, 
and  especially  Catholicism,  being,  as  I have  said  in  “The 
Country  Doctor,”  a complete  system  for  the  repression  of  J 
the  selfish  instincts  of  mankind,  is  the  strongest  element 
of  the  social  order. 

If  we  study  carefully  a representation  of  Society  moulded 
as  it  were  upon  the  living  form,  with  all  its  good  and  all  its 
evil,  we  shall  find  that  while  thought,  — or  rather  passion, 
which  is  thought  and  feeling  combined,  — is  the  social  ele- 
ment and  bond,  it  is  also  an  element  of  destruction.  In  this 
respect  the  social  life  is  like  the  physical  life:  races  and  men 
attain  longevity  only  by  the  non-exhaustion  of  the  vital  force. 
Consequently  instruction  — or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  reli-. 
gious  education- — is  the  great  principle  of  the  life  of  Society, 
the  only  means  of  diminishing  the  total  of  evil  and  augment- 
ing the  total  of  good  in  human  life.  Thought,  the  fountain 


Preface. 


xii 

of  all  good  and  of  all  evil,  cannot  be  trained,  mastered,  and 
directed  except  by  religion  ; and  the  only  possible  religion  is 
Christianity,  which  created  the  modern  world  and  will  pre- 
serve it.i  From  it  sprang  the  need  of  the  monarchical  prin- 
ciple ; in  fact,  Christianity  and  monarchy  are  twin  principles. 
As  to  the  limits  within  which  both  should  be  held  and  regu- 
lated lest  they  develop  to  their  inherent  conclusions,  my 
readers  will  agree  with  me  that  this  brief  preface  is  not  the 
place  for  such  discussion.  Neither  can  I enter  upon  the 
religious  and  political  dissensions  of  the  present  day.  I 
write  by  the  light  of  two  eternal  truths,  — religion  and  mon- 
archy : two  necessities  proclaimed  by  contemporaneous  events, 
and  towards  which  every  writer  of  sound  judgment  will  en- 
deavor to  bring  back  this  nation.  Though  I am  not  an 
enemy  to  election,  which  is  a sound  principle  in  the  consti- 
tution of  law,  I reject  it  when  taken  as  the  sole  expression  of 
the  social  will,  and  especially  when  organized  as  it  is  at  this 
moment.  The  sulfrage,  if  granted  to  all,  will  give  us  govern- 
ment by  the  masses,  — the  only  government  that  is  irrespon- 
sible, and  whose  tyranny  will  be  without  check  because 
exercised  under  the  name  of  law.  For  myself,  I regard  the 
family  and  not  the  individual  as  the  true  essence  of  social 
life.  In  this  respect,  and  at  the  risk  of  being  thought  retro- 
grade, I stand  by  Bossuet  and  Bonald,  instead  of  advancing 
with  modern  innovators. 

There  are  persons  to  whom  these  remarks  will  seem  arro- 
gant and  presumptuous ; they  will  quarrel  with  a novelist  who 
assumes  to  be  an  historian,  and  ask  why  he  thus  promulgates 
his  theories.  My  sole  reply  is,  that  I obey  a sense  of  duty. 
The  work  I have  undertaken  will  spread  to  the  proportions 
of  history,  and  it  is  due  to  my  readers  that  I should  state  its 

1 See  a letter  written  from  Paris  in  “Louis  Lambert,”  in  which  the 
mystical  young  philosopher  shows,  apropos  of  the  doctrine  of  Swe- 
denborg, that  there  has  been  but  one  religion  since  the  creation  of  the 
world. 


Preface. 


xiii 


purpose,  hitherto  unexplained,  together  with  its  principles 
and  ethics. 

Having  withdrawn  various  prefaces  which  were  published 
in  reply  to  criticisms  essentially  ephemeral,  1 shall  here 
recall  only  one  of  the  observations  which  I have  heretofore 
made  upon  my  books. 

Writers  who  have  an  end  in  view,  be  it  even  a return  to 
the  principles  of  the  past  for  the  reason  that  they  contain 
truths  which,  are  eternal,  should  be  careful  to  clear  their  way 
of  all  difficulties.  Now,  whoever  attacks  the  realm  of  pre- 
conceived ideas,  whoever  points  out  an  abuse,  or  sets  a mark 
on  evils  that  they  may  be  checked  and  curtailed,  is  held, 
almost  invariably,  to  be  unprincipled.  The  reproach  of 
immorality  has  never  failed  to  pursue  a courageous  writer, 
and  is  often  the  only  arrow  in  the  quiver  of  those  who  can 
say  nothing  else  against  a poet.  If  a man  is  faithful  in  his 
portraiture  5 if,  toiling  night  and  day,  he  attains  at  last  to  a 
full  expression  of  that  life  and  language  which  of  all  others 
is  the  most  difficult  to  render,  — the  stigma  of  immorality 
is  flung  upon  him.  Thus  Socrates  was  immoral;  so  was 
Christ : both  were  pursued  in  the  name  of  that  social  order 
which  they  overthrew  or  reformed.  When  a man  is  to  be 
destroyed,  this  charge  is  brought  against  him;  but  the  trick, 
practised  by  partisans  of  all  conditions,  recoils  with  shame 
upon  the  heads  of  those  who  employ  it. 

In  copying  the  whole  of  Society,  and  in  trying  to  seize  its 
likeness  from  the  midst  of  the  seething  struggle,  it  necessarily 
happens  that  more  of  evil  than  of  good  is  shown.  Thus 
some  portion  of  the  fresco  representing  a guilty  group  excites 
the  cry  of  immorality,  while  the  critic  fails  to  point  out  a 
corresponding  part  which  was  intended  to  show  a moral  con- 
trast. As  such  critics  were  ignorant  of  my  general  plan  I 
readily  pardon  their  mistake,  for  an  author  can  no  more 
hinder  criticism  than  he  can  hinder  the  use  of  sight  or  hear- 
ing or  language.  Besides,  the  day  of  impartial  judgment 


xiv 


Preface. 


has  not  yet  dawned  for  me  ; and  I may  add  that  the  writer 
who  cannot  stand  the  fire  of  criticism  is  no  more  fit  to  start 
upon  the  career  of  authorship  than  a traveller  is  fit  to  under- 
take a journey  if  he  is  prepared  only  for  fine  weather.  I 
shall  merely  remark,  that  although  the  most  scrupulous  mor- 
alists have  doubted  whether  Society  is  able  to  show  as  much 
good  as  it  shows  evil,  yet  in  the  pictures  which  I have  made 
of  it  virtuous  characters  outnumber  the  bad.  Blameworthy 
conduct,  faults,  and  crimes  have  invariably  received  their 
punishment,  human  or  divine,  startling  or  secret.  In  this 
I have  done  better  than  the  historian,  for  I have  been  free  to 
do  so.  Cromwell  here  below  received  no  other  chastisement 
than  that  inflicted  by  the  thoughts  of  men;  and  even  those 
were  vacillating,  for  Bossuet  himself  dealt  charitably  with 
the  great  regicide.  William  of  Orange  the  usurper,  and 
Hugh  Capet  that  other  usurper,  died  full  of  days,  without 
more  to  suffer  or  to  fear  than  Henry  TV.  or  Charles  I.  The 
lives  of  Catherine  of  Russia  and  Frederick  the  Great  were  at 
war  with  every  species  of  morality,  even  if  judged  from  the 
double  point  of  view  of  the  virtue  which  regulates  men  at 
large,  and  of  that  other  virtue  reserved  for  crowned  heads,  I 
which  claims,  with  Napoleon,  that  for  kings  and  statesmen 
there  are  two  moralities,  — a greater  and  a lesser.  My 
“ Scenes  from  Political  Life  ” are  based  on  this  reflection. 
History  does  not,  like  the  novel,  hold  up  the  law  of  a higher 
ideal.  History  is,  or  should  be,  the  world  as  it  has  been ; the 
novel — to  use  a saying  of  Madame  Necker,  one  of  the  ]*emark- 
able  minds  of  the  last  century  — should  paint  a possible  better 
world. 

Yet  even  so,  the  novel  would  be  worth  little  if  it  pictured 
only  such  august  fiction,  and  failed  in  truth  of  detail. 
Here  it  is  that  Walter  Scott,  forced  to  conform  to  the  ideas 
of  a public  essentially  hypocritical,  was  false  to  humanity  in 
his  delineation  of  women:  he  drew  them  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a schismatic.  The  woman  of  Protestant  nations  is 


Preface. 


XV 


without  idsal.  She  is  chaste,  pure^  virtuous 5 but  her  love, 
without  flow  of  thought  or  emotion,  remains  calm,  like  a 
duty  fulfilled.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  loss  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  had  chilled  the  hearts  of  the  sophists  who  banished  her 
from  heaven,  with  all  her  treasures  of  mercy  and  of  pity. 
Under  the  Protestant  system  there  is  nothing  left  for  a wo- 
man who  has  once  fallen  j but  in  the  Catholic  Church  the 
hope  of  pardon  still  ennobles  her  life.  Thus  there  is  but 
one  woman  for  the  Protestant  writer,  while  for  the  Catholic 
there  is  an  ever  new  woman  in  all  her  varying  situations. 
If  Walter  Scott  had  been  a Catholic,  and  if  he  had  placed 
before  his  mind  the  task  of  describing  truthfully  those  phases 
of  Society  through  which  Scotland  has  passed,  perhaps  the 
painter  of  Eflie  and  Alice  (two  characters  which  in  his  latter 
days  he  reproached  himself  for  having  drawn)  would  have 
admitted  into  his  work  the  history  of  passions,  with  their 
faults,  their  punishments,  and  the  virtues  which  repentance 
brings.  Passion  is  humanity;  without  it  religion,  history, 
romance,  art,  would  not  exist. 

In  seeing  me  collect  this  mass  of  facts  and  paint  them  as 
they  are,  in  their  element  of  passionate  emotion,  some  per- 
sons have  imagined,  very  erroneously,  that  I belong  to  the 
school  of  materialists  and  sensualists,  — two  aspects  of  Pan- 
theism. They  are  mistaken.  I put  no  faith  in  any  indefi- 
nite advancement  of  Society;  I believe  in  the  progress  and 
development  of  the  individual  man.  Those  who  find  in  me 
a disposition  to  look  on  man  as  a completed  being  are 
strangely  deceived.  Seraphita,”  which  gives  what  I may 
call  the  doctrine  of  the  Christian  Buddha,  is  my  answer  to 
this  accusation . 

In  certain  parts  of  my  long  work  I have  tried  to  popularize 
those  amazing  facts,  those  prodigies  of  electricity,  which  pro- 
duce within  a man  some  unexplained  magnetic  power.  Bufc 
how,  let  me  ask,  can  any  such  phenomena  of  the  brain  and 
nerves,  even  though  they  denote  the  existence  of  a new  moral 


XVI 


Preface. 


world,  affect  or  change  the  known  and  necessary  relations 
between  mankind  and  God?  In  what  way  can  they  shake 
Catholic  dogma?  If  incontestable  facts  hereafter  prove  that 
thought  must  be  classed  among  the  fluids  which  are  known 
only  by  their  effects,  and  of  which  the  substance  escapes  our 
human  perceptions,  aided  though  they  be  by  all  mechanical 
facilities,  still  this  would  be  no  more  amazing  than  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  globe  perceived  by  Columbus,  or  its  rota- 
tory motion  revealed  through  Galileo.  Our  future  will  remain 
the  same.  Animal  magnetism,  with  whose  miracles  I have 
been  familiar  since  1820;  the  phrenological  researches  of 
Gall,  successor  to  Lavater;  in  fact  the  works  of  all  those  who 
for  fifty  years  have  studied  thought  as  opticians  have  studied 
light,  — two  things  not  dissimilar,  — give  evidence  both  for 
the  mystics  and  the  disciples  of  St.  John  the  Apostle,  and  also 
for  those  great  thinkers  who  have  endeavored  to  think  out  a 
spiritual  world,  a new  sphere,  in  which  shall  be  revealed  the 
relations  between  man  and  God. 

If  the  meaning  of  my  work  is  understood,  my  readers  will 
see  that  I give  to  the  recurring  events  of  daily  life,  — secret  or 
manifest,  — and  to  the  actions  of  individuals,  with  their  hid- 
den springs  and  motives,  as  much  importance  as  the  historian 
bestows  on  the  public  life  of  a nation.  The  obscure  battle 
fought  in  the  valley  of  the  Indre  between  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  and  her  temptation  (“The  Lily  of  the  Valley’’)  was 
perhaps  as  great  a struggle  as  the  most  illustrious  combat 
ever  related  in  history.  In  the  latter,  fame  was  the  conquer- 
or’s guerdon;  in  hers,  the  peace  of  heaven.  The  misfoi tunes 
of  the  Birotteaus,  the  priest  and  the  perfumer,  are  to  me  the 
woes  of  humanity.  La  Fosseuse  in  “ The  Country  Doctor,” 
and  Madame  Graslin  in  “ The  Village  Rector,”  reveal  nearly 
the  whole  of  woman’s  life.  We  suffer  day  by  day  all  that 
these  people  suffered.  I have  had  to  do  a hundred  times 
what  Richardson  did  once.  Lovelace  presents  himself  under 
a thousand  shapes,  for  social  corruption  takes  the  color  of 


Preface. 


xvii 


the  centres  in  which  it  develops.  On  the  other  hand  Clarissa, 
that  lovely  image  of  passionate  virtue,  has  lines  of  purity  that 
fill  me  with  despair.  To  create  many  virgins  one  needs  to  be 
a Raphael,  for  literature  in  this  respect  falls  below  art.  Nev- 
ertheless, I here  call  my  readers’  attention  to  the  large  num- 
ber of  virtuous  and  irreproachable  characters  which  may  be 
found  in  my  works,  — Pierrette  Lorrain,  Ursule  Mirouet, 
Constance  Birotteau,  La  Fosseuse,  Eugenie  Grandet,  Mar- 
guerite Claes,  Pauline  de  Villenoix,  Madame  Jules,  Madame 
de  la  Chanterie,  live  Chardon,  Mademoiselle  d’Esgrignon, 
Madame  Firmiani,  Agathe  Rouget,  Renee  de  Maucombe; 
together  with  many  characters  on  the  second  plane,  which, 
though  less  important  to  the  story,  keep  before  the  reader’s 
mind  the  simple  practical  virtues  of  domestic  life,  — such 
for  instance  as  Joseph  Lebas,  Genestas,  Benassis,  the  rector 
Bonnet,  the  doctor  Minoret,  Pillerault,  David  Sechard,  the 
two  Birotteaus,  the  curate  Chaperon,  the  judge  Popinot, 
Bourgeat,  Sauviat,  the  Tascherons,  and  many  others;  have 
they  not  solved  the  difficult  literary  problem  of  making  virtue 
interesting? 

It  has  been  no  light  task  to  paint  the  three  or  four  thou- 
sand salient  figures  of  an  epoch,  — for  that  is  about  the  num- 
ber of  types  presented  by  the  generation  of  which  this  human 
comedy  is  the  contemporary  and  the  exponent.  This  number 
of  figures,  of  characters,  this  multitude  of  portraits  needed 
frames,  permit  me  even  to  say  galleries.  Out  of  this  neces- 
sity grew  the  classification  of  my  work  into  Scenes,  — scenes 
from  private^  provincial^  Parisian^  political^  military^  and  coun- 
try life.  Under  these  heads  I have  classed  all  those  studies 
of  manners  and  morals  which  form  the  general  history  of 
Society  and  of  its  “ conduct  of  life  and  noble  deeds  ” fails 
et  gestes)j  to  use  the  language  of  our  ancestors.  These  six 
divisions  follow  a general  idea  ; each  has  its  meaning  and 
signification,  and  represents  a distinct  phase  in  human  life. 
The  “ Scenes  from  private  life  ” are  those  of  childhood  and  of 

P' 


xviii 


Preface. 


youth,  just  as  the  “ Scenes  from  provincial  life  ’’  represent  the 
age  of  passions,  calculations,  self-interest,  and  ambition. 
The  “ Scenes  from  Parisian  life  ’’  draw  the  picture  of  tastes, 
fashions,  sentiments,  vices,  and  all  those  unbridled  extrava- 
gances excited  by  the  life  of  great  cities,  where  meet  together 
the  extremes  of  good  and  the  extremes  of  evil.  Each  of 
these  three  divisions  has  its  local  color.  Paris  and  the  pro- 
vinces — that  social  antithesis  — furnished  the  data.  Not 
only  men  but  events  may  be  formulated  by  types ; and  there 
are  situations  in  the  lives  of  all,  typical  phases,  which  I have 
sought  out  and  studied  carefully.  I have  also  tried  to  give 
an  idea  of  the  different  regions  of  our  beautiful  land.  My 
work  thus  has  its  geography  as  it  has  its  genealogy,  its  fami- 
lies, its  centres,  persons,  actions;  its  armorial  history,  its 
nobles,  artisans,  citizens,  peasants;  its  politics,  its  men  of 
fashion,  its  army,  — in  short,  its  world  of  men  and  things. 

After  drawing  these  three  sections  of  Society,  I wished  to 
show  certain  other  phases  of  life  which  unite  the  interests 
of  some  or  of  all,  and  yet  are  partly  aloof  from  the  common 
order.  Out  of  this  desire  came  the  “ Scenes  from  political 
life,’’  also  the  ‘‘  Scenes  from  military  life;  ” in  the  latter  I 
have  sought  to  show  Society  in  convulsion,  carried  out  of  itself 
either  for  conquest  or  for  defence.  Finally,  the  “ Scenes 
from  country  life  ” are,  as  it  were,  the  evening  of  my  long 
day’s-work,  if  I may  so  call  this  social  drama.  In  this 
division  will  be  found  my  purest  characters ; also  the  appli- 
cation of  the  great  principles  of  order,  of  patriotism,  and  of 
morality. 

Such  is  the  structure,  teeming  with  life,  full  of  comedy 
and  of  tragedy,  on  which  I base  the  “ Philosophical  Studies  ” 
which  form  the  second  part  of  my  work.  In  these  I have 
shown  the  keynote  of  that  vast  assemblage  of  all  that  strikes 
the  eye,  that  captivates  the  mind  or  touches  the  heart;  I 
have  shown  the  havoc  that  has  followed  thought,  step  by 


Preface. 


XIX 


step,  from  emotion  to  emotion.  The  first  of  these  volumes, 
“The  Magic  Skin,”  unites  the  philosophical  study  to  a pic- 
ture of  manners  and  morals  by  means  of  a fantasy,  partly 
Oriental,  which  shows  the  principle  of  life  itself  in  a struggle 
^ith  the  principle  of  all  passion. 

Above  these  again  will  be  found  the  “ Analytical  Studies,” 
of  which  I shall  say  nothing,  as  only  one  of  them  has  been 
published.  Later,  I hope  to  give  other  works  of  the  same 
class, — the  “ Pathology  of  Social  life,”  the  “Anatomy  of 
Educating  bodies,”  the  “ Monograph  of  Virtue,”  etc. 

Looking  at  the  work  still  to  be  done,  perhaps  my  readers 
will  join  my  publishers  in  saying,  “ May  your  life  be  pro- 
longed! ” My  own  prayer  is  that  I may  not  be  so  tortured 
by  men  and  events  as  I have  been  in  the  past,  since  the  be- 
ginning of  my  great  and  terrible  labor.  Yet  I have  had  one 
support,  for  which  I return  thanks  to  God.  The  highest 
talent  of  our  day,  the  noblest  characters,  the  truest  friends, 
have  clasped  my  hand  and  said  to  me,  “Take  courage!” 
Why  should  I not  own  that  such  proofs  of  affection,  such 
testimonials  given  now  and  then  by  strangers,  have  upheld 
me  in  my  career  in  spite  of  myself,  in  spite  of  unjust  attacks, 
in  spite  of  calumnies  that  have  pursued  me,  — upheld  me 
against  disheartenment,  and  also  against  that  too-vivid  hope, 
the  expression  of  which  has  been  mistaken  for  excessive 
conceit. 

The  extent  of  a plan  which  embraces  both  the  history  and 
the  criticism  of  Society,  which  analyzes  its  evils  and  lays 
bare  its  hidden  springs,  justifies  me,  I think,  in  giving  to  my 
work  the  title  under  which  it  now  appears,  — “ The  Comedy 
of  Human  Life.”  Is  it  ambitious  ? Is  it  not  just  and  legiti- 
mate ? The  public,  when  my  work  is  done,  will  decide „ 


Paris,  July^  1842. 


SCENES  FROM  PRIYATE  LIFE. 


Pi:EE  GORIOT. 

I. 

Madame  Vauquer,  nee  de  Conflans,  is  an  old  lady 
who  for  forty  years  has  kept  a second-class  boarding- 
house in  Paris,  — a pension  bourgeoises  — in  the  Rue 
Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  between  the  Latin  quarter 
and  the  faubourg  Saint-Marceau.  This  pension^  known 
as  the  Maison  Vauquer,  is  for  both  sexes  and  all  ages; 
and  up  to  the  time  of  which  we  write,  scandal  had 
found  nothing  to  say  against  the  manners  or  the  morals 
of  so  respectable  an  establishment.  It  must  be  admit- 
ted, however,  that  for  more  than  thirty  years  no  young 
woman  had  ever  lived  in  the  house,  and  it  is  certain  that 
any  young  man  who  may  have  done  so  received  but  a 
slender  allowance  from  his  family.  Nevertheless,  in 
1819,  the  date  of  the  opening  of  this  drama,  we  shall 
find  a poor  young  girl  living  there. 

Though  the  word  drama  has  been  recklessly  ill-used 
and  misapplied  in  our  degenerate  modern  literature, 
it  is  necessary  to  employ  it  here ; not  that  this  story  is 
dramatic  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  but  that  when 
it  ends  some  reader  may  perchance  have  dropped  a 

1 


2 


Pere  Goriot. 


tear  intra  muros  et  extra.  Will  it  be  comprebended 
beyond  the  walls  of  Paris?  I doubt  it.  Its  minute 
points  of  personal  observation  and  local  color  can  be 
caught  only  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  valley  which  lies 
between  the  hills  of  Montmartre  and  the  higher  ele- 
vations of  Montrouge,  — a valley  full  of  plastered  archi- 
tecture crumbling  to  swift  decay,  its  gutters  black  with 
foulest  mud  ; a valley  teeming  with  sufferings  cruelly 
real,  and  with  joys  often  as  cruelly  false ; a place  so 
full  of  terrible  agitation  that  only  some  abnormal  event 
occurring  there  can  give  rise  to  more  than  a passing 
sensation.  And  yet,  here  and  there,  even  in  Paris,  we 
encounter  griefs  to  which  attendant  circumstances  of 
vice  or  virtue  lend  a solemn  dignity.  In  their  presence 
self  and  self-interest  pause,  checked  by  a momentary 
pity.  But  the  impression  made  is  like  that  of  a tooth- 
some fruit,  forgotten  as  soon  as  eaten.  The  car  ol 
civilization,  like  that  of  Juggernaut,  is  hardly  stayed  a 
moment  by  the  resistance  of  some  heart  less  easily 
ground  to  atoms  than  its  fellows : the  wheels  roll  on, 
the  heart  is  crushed,  the  car  advances  on  its  glorious 
way.  You  will  do  the  same,  — you  my  reader,  now 
holding  this  book  in  your  white  hand,  and  saying  to 
yourself  in  the  depths  of  your  easy-chair  : “I  wonder 
if  it  will  amuse  me ! ” When  you  have  read  the  sorrows 
of  Pere  Goriot  you  will  lay  the  book  aside  and  eat  your 
dinner  with  an  appetite,  and  excuse  your  own  callous- 
ness by  taxing  the  author  with  exaggeration  and  poetic 
license.  Ah  ! believe  me,  this  drama  is  no  fiction,  no 
romance.  All  is  true^  — so  true  that  you  may  recog- 
nize its  elements  in  your  experience,  and  even  find  its 
seeds  within  your  souL 


Pere  Groriot. 


8 


The  house  in  which  the  pension  is  carried  on  belongs 
to  Madame  Vauquer.  It  is  situated  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  where  the  ground 
slopes  toward  the  Rue  Arbalete  so  steeply  and  abruptly 
that  horses  rarely  come  up  or  down.  This  contributes 
to  the  silence  which  reigns  in  the  nest  of  little  streets 
crowded  together  between  the  dome  of  the  Val-de- 
Grace  and  that  of  the  Pantheon,  — two  buildings  which 
change  the  very  color  of  the  atmosphere  in  their  neigh- 
borhood, throwing  into  it  a yellow  tone,  and  darken- 
ing all  by  the  shadows  flung  from  their  cupolas.  The 
pavements  of  these  streets  are  dry,  unless  it  rains ; the 
gutters  are  free  from  mud  and  water ; grass  grows  in 
tufts  along  the  walls.  The  most  light-hearted  of  men 
catches  something  as  he  passes  of  the  common  sadness 
of  a place  where  the  houses  resemble  prisons  and  the 
roll  of  a carriage  is  an  event.  A Parisian,  wandering 
into  it  by  chance,  will  find  there  only  these  gray  pen- 
sions and  charitable  institutions,  sombre  with  the  gloom 
of  poverty  and  ennui^  — the  gloom  of  old  age  slowly 
passing  through  the  shadow  of  death  ; of  youth,  whose 
youthfulness  is  crushed  out  of  it  by  the  necessities  of 
toil. 

No  part  of  Paris  is  so  depressing,  nor,  we  may  add, 
so  little  known.  The  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve, 
above  all,  may  be  likened  to  an  iron  frame,  — the  only 
frame  fit  to  hold  the  coming  narrative,  to  which  the 
reader’s  mind  must  be  led  by  sombre  colors  and  sol- 
emn thoughts;  just  as,  step  by  step,  when  the  traveller 
descends  into  the  catacombs,  the  light  fades  and  the 
song  of  the  guide  is  hushed.  An  apt  comparison ! 
Who  shall  say  which  is  the  more  awful,  — to  watch 


4 


Pere  Groriot. 


the  withering  of  a living  heart,  or  to  gaze  upon  the 
mouldering  of  skulls  and  bones? 

The  front  of  Madame  Vauquer’s  house  looks  out 
upon  a tiny  garden,  so  that  the  building  runs  at  right 
angles  from  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve  at  its 
steepest  part.  Along  this  front,  between  the  house 
and  garden,  is  a gutter-like  piece  of  paved  work  six 
feet  wide  ; in  front  of  this  runs  a gravel  walk  bordered 
by  geraniums,  lauristinus,  and  pomegranates  growing 
in  large  vases  of  blue  and  white  pottery.  The  street 
gate  opens  on  this  path,  and  is  surmounted  by  the 
inscription,  ‘‘Maison  Vauquer,”  in  large  letters  : under- 
neath appears,  “ Pension  Bourgeoise  for  both  sexes,  and 
others.”  During  the  day  this  gate,  with  an  open  iron 
lattice,  fitted  also  with  a shrill  bell,  permits  those  who 
pass  the  house  to  look  into  the  garden^  There,  at 
the  end  of  the  pavement  and  opposite  to  the  street, 
the  wall  has  been  painted  by  some  artist  of  the  neigh- 
borhood to  resemble  an  alcove  of  green  marble.  Be- 
fore this  fictitious  depression  of  the  wall  is  a statue 
of  Cupid ; a half-effaced  inscription  on  the  pedestal 
indicating  that  the  age  of  this  ornament  is  coeval  with 
the  popular  enthusiasm  for  Voltaire  on  his  return  to 
Paris  in  1778  : — 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  thy  master  see ! 

He  is,  he  was,  or  he  will  be.^ 

At  dusk  this  gate  with  its  barred  openings  gives 
place  to  a stout  wooden  door.  The  garden,  wide  as 
thefagade  of  the  house,  is  inclosed  by  the  street  wall 

1 Qui  que  tu  sois,  voici  ton  maitre ! 

II  Test,  le  £ut.  ou  le  doit  etre. 


Pere  Groriot. 


5 


and  by  the  wall  which  divides  it  from  the  garden  of 
the  next  house.  From  these  fall  a drapery  of  ivy 
which  conceals  them,  and  which  attracts  attention  by 
a picturesque  effect  not  common  in  a city.  On  both 
walls  fruit-trees  have  been  trained  and  grape-vines, 
whose  sickly,  dusty  products  are  every  year  the  objects 
of  Madame  Vauquer’s  solicitude,  and  afford  a topic  of 
conversation  between  herself  and  her  guests.  Under 
each  wall  runs  a narrow  path  leading  to  a spot  shaded 
by  lindens,  — tilleuls.  The  word  tilleuls  Madame  Vau- 
quer,  though  presumably  of  good  family,  being  nee  de 
Conflans,  persists  in  pronouncing  tieuilles,  although 
she  has  often  been  corrected  for  it  by  her  more 
grammatical  Parisians.  Between  these  paths  is  a bed 
of  artichokes,  flanked  by  a row  of  fruit-trees  trained 
as  standards ; and  the  whole  is  bordered  by  pot- 
herbs, sorrel,  lettuce,  and  parsley.  Under  the  lindens 
stands  a round  table^  painted  green  and  surrounded  by 
benches.  Here,  during  the  dog-days,  those  guests  who 
can  afford  to  take  coffee  come  forth  to  enjoy  it  in  heat 
sufficient  to  hatch  out  a brood  of  chickens. 

The  house  is  of  three  storeys,  with  attic  chambers. 
It  is  built  of  rough  blocks  of  stone,  plastered  with  the 
yellow  wash  that  gives  so  contemptible  a character  to 
half  the  houses  of  Paris.  The  five  windows  of  each 
storey  of  the  fagade  have  small  panes  and  are  pro- 
vided with  green  blinds,  none  of  which  correspond  in 
height,  giving  to  the  outside  of  the  house  an  aspect  of 
uncomfortable  irregularity.  At  the  narrow  or  street 
end,  the  house  has  two  windows  on  each  storey;  those 
on  the  ground-floor  have  no  blinds,  and  are  protected 
by  iron  gratings.  Behind  the  house  is  a court-yard 


6 


Pere  Goriot. 


twenty  feet  square,  where  dwells  a “happy  family  of 
pigs,  rabbits,  and  fowls.  At  the  far  end  is  a wood-shed. 
Between  this  shed  and  the  kitchen  window  the  meat- 
safe  is  hung  up  directly  over  the  spot  where  the  greasy 
water  from  the  sink  runs  into  the  ground.  The  court 
has  a small  door  opening  on  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte- 
Genevieve,  through  which  the  cook  sweeps  the  garbage 
of  the  house  into  the  street  gutters  when  she  washes 
out  the  drain  with  great  sluicings  of  water,  a needful 
precaution  against  pestilence. 

The  ground-floor,  necessarily  the  part  of  the  house 
where  the  aflairs  of  such  an  establishment  are  carried 
on,  consists,  first,  of  a parlor  lighted  by  two  windows 
looking  upon  the  street,  which  is  entered  through  a 
glass  door.  This,  the  common  sitting-room,  leads  into 
the  dining-room,  which  is  separated  from  the  kitchen 
by  the  well  of  the  staircase,  the  steps  of  which  are  of 
wood,  laid  in  squares  and  polished.  Nothing  can  be 
niore  dismal  than  this  sitting-room,  furnished  with 
chairs  and  armchairs  covered  with  a species  of  striped 
horsehair.  In  the  centre  stands  a round  table  with  a 
marble  top,  and  upon  it  one  of  those  white  porcelain 
tea-sets  with  gilt  edges  half  effaced,  which  now-a-days 
may  be  seen  everywhere.  The . room  has  a shabby 
ceiling,  and  is  wainscoted  a third  of  the  way  up  ; the 
rest  of  the  wall  being  covered  by  varnished  paper  rep- 
resenting the  adventures  of  Telemachus,  the  princi- 
pal classic  personages  being  clad  in  color.  The  space 
between  the  barred  windows  offers  to  the  guests  at 
Madame  Vauquer’s  table  a view  of  the  feast  prepared 
by  Calypso  for  the  son  of  Ulysses.  For  forty  years  this 
feast  has  served  the  younger  members  of  the  household 


Pere  Q-oriot. 


7 


lyith  a theme  for  jests,  and  enables  them  to  feel  supe- 
rior to  their  position  by  making  fun  of  the  wretched 
fare  to  which  for  lack  of  means  they  are  condemned. 
The  mantel  is  of  marble,  and  the  hearth,  always  clean, 
gives  evidence  that  a fire  is  never  kindled  there  except 
on  great  occasions.  The  mantel-shelf  is  adorned  by 
two  vases,  filled  with  old  and  faded  artificial  flowei  s 
under  glass  cases,  which  fiank  a clock  of  blueish  marble 
of  the  worst  taste.  This  room  is  pervaded  by  a smell 
for  which  there  is  no  name  in  any  language.  We  must 
call  it  an  odeur  de  pension,  Vodeur  du  renferme,  — 
the  odor  of  the  shut-in.  It  suggests  used  air,  rancid 
grease,  and  mildew.  It  strikes  a chill  as  of  malaria  to 
the  bones ; it  penetrates  the  clothes  with  fetid  moisture  ; 
it  tastes  in  the  mouth  like  the  stale  fumes  of  a dinner ; 
it  fills  the  nostrils  with  the  mingled  odors  of  a scullery 
and  a hospital.  Possibly  it  might  be  described  if  we 
could  invent  a process  for  analyzing  the  nauseous  ca- 
tarrhal elements  thrown  oflf  by  the  physical  conditions 
and  idiosyncrasies  of  a long  procession  of  inmates, 
young  and  old.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  horrors, 
compare  the  salon  with  the  dining-room,  and  you  will 
end  by  thinking  it  as  elegant  and  as  fragrant  as  a lady’s 
boudoir. 

The  dining-room,  with  panelled  walls,  was  once 
painted  of  a color  no  longer  discernible,  which  now 
forms  a background  on  which  layers  of  dii't,  more  or 
less  thick,  have  made  a variety  of  curious  patterns. 
The  room  is  surrounded  by  shelves  serving  as  side- 
boards, upon  which  stand  chipped  water-bottles,  cloudy 
and  dim,  round  mats  of  zinc  metal,  and  piles  of  plates 
made  of  thick  stone-ware  with  blue  edges,  from  the 


8 


Pere  Goriot. 


manufactory  at  Tournai.  In  one  corner  is  a box  with 
pigeon-holes,  in  which  are  placed,  according  to  number, 
the  wine-stained  and  greasy  napkins  of  the  various 
guests.  The  whole  room  is  a depository  of  worthless 
furniture,  rejected  elsewhere  and  gathered  here,  as  the 
battered  relics  of  humanity  are  gathered  in  hospitals 
for  the  incurable.  Here  may  be  seen  a barometer  with 
a hooded  monk,  who  steps  out  when  it  rains;  exe- 
crable engravings  that  turn  the  stomach,  framed  in 
varnished  black  wood  with  a thread  of  gilding;  a 
clock-case  of  tortoise-shell  inlaid  with  copper ; a green 
porcelain  stove;  lamps  with  dust  floating  on  the  oil;  a 
long  table  covered  with  oilcloth,  so  greasy  that  a face- 
tious guest  has  been  seen  to  scratch  his  name  upon  it 
with  his  flnger-nail ; wretched  little  mats  made  of 
broom-straw,  slipping  from  the  feet  yet  always  in  the 
way ; dilapidated  foot- warmers,  with  their  internal  a?'- 
rangements  so  worn  out  that  the  wood  is  beginning  to 
be  charred.  To  describe  how  old,  how  ragged,  rotten, 
rusty,  moth-eaten,  maimed,  shabby,  and  infirm  these 
remnants  are  would  delay  too  long  the  current  of  this 
story,  and  readers  in  haste  to  follow  it  might  complain. 
The  red-tiled  floor  is  uneven,  worn  in  places  either 
by  hard  rubbing  or  by  the  crumbling  action  of  the 
color.  In  a word,  here  is  poverty  without  relieving 
sentiment;  hard,  bitter,  rasping  poverty.  If  filth  is 
not  yet  seen,  foul  stains  are  there;  rags  and  tatters 
may  not  appear,  but  rottenness  has  eaten  into  warp 
and  woof  with  a sure  decay. 

The  room  appears  in  full  perfection  when  at  seven 
o’clock  in  the  morning  Madame  Vauquer’s  tom-cat 
walks  in,  preceding  the  arrival  of  his  mistress.  He 


Pere  Croriot. 


11 

occupied  by  an  old  maid  named  Mademoiselle  Michon- 
neau ; and  another  by  an  aged  manufacturer  of  vermi- 
celli and  other  Italian  pastes,  who  allowed  himself  to 
be  called  Pere  Goriot.  The  two  remaining  chambers 
were  kept  for  birds  of  passage,  who,  like  Pere  Goriot 
and  Mademoiselle  Michonnean,  could  only  afford  to 
pay  forty-five  francs  a month  for  board  and  lodging. 
But  Madame  Vauquer  was  not  desirous  of  such  guests, 
and  only  took  them  when  she  could  do  no  better ; for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  their  appetites  made  them  unprofit- 
able. At  this  time  one  of  these  rooms  was  occupied 
by  a young  man  who  had  come  to  Paris  to  study  law 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Angouleme,  where  his  family 
were  practising  the  strictest  economy  to  provide  him 
with  the  twelve  hundred  francs  a year  which  enabled 
him  to  live. 

Eugene  de  Rastignac  — - such  was  his  name  — was 
one  of  that  large  class  of  young  men  taught  to  work  by 
sheer  necessity ; men  who  understand  from  infancy 
the  hopes  their  parents  place  upon  them,  and  who  pro 
pare  for  success  in  life  by  directing  all  their  studies  to 
fit  them  to  take  advantage  of  the  future  set  of  the  cur- 
rent, and  thus  be  among  the  first  to  profit  by  any  on- 
ward movement  of  society.  Unless  we  were  aided  by 
this  young  man’s  powers  of  observation,  and  by  the 
address  which  enabled  him  to  make  his  way  in  the 
gieat  world,  this  story  could  not  have  been  colored  to 
the  life,  as  we  now  hope  it  may  be,  owing  to  his  saga- 
city, !iis  perseverance  in  penetrating,  and  also  his  good- 
will in  conveying  to  us  for  the  purposes  of  this  narrative 
(without  which  we  might  have  been  unable  to  compile 


12 


P^re  Goriot. 


4-  nf  a terrible  situation,  — mysteries 

it)  the  ""y^tenes  of  a teri 

carefully  concealed  both  by  those  w 

and  by  him  who  was  their  vie  ™ ^tjere  clothes  were 
Above  the  third  storey  was 
dried,  and  two  attic  rooms,  in  one  of  wbic  J 

of  all  workname.^2™^'’^  ^lar  house-lodgers, 

the  fat  cook.  Besides  h g 

Madame  Vauquer  usually  ha  , y and  two  or 

about  eight  students 

three  ^ dining-room  could  seat  eighteen 

to  dinner  only,  ihe  mning  ^ In  the 

persons  comfortably,  and  sque  breakfast, 

mornings,  however,  there  were  bu  ^ve 
_ a circumstance  which  made 

affair.  Every  one  came  ^own  “ JP  , 

X.  Jnts  were  n.ade 

nmnners  of  ^ evening  with  all  the  free- 

r flnti^acY  The  seven  lodgers  were  supposed 
dom  of  intimacy.  Madame  Vauquer,  who 

to  be  in  especial  fav  ^gi^n  of  an  astronomer 

meted  out  to  them  wi  si  deration,  based  on  the 

their  just  dues  of  oare  an  co  standard 

arithmetic  of  their  3 ^ith  each  other, 

governed  the  intercourse  of  the  guest  ^ 
although  mere  chance,  poor  wai  , 

here  together.  ^^pond  floor  paid  seventy- 

The  two  lodgers  »n  ^ 1,,.^  hoard, 

two  francs  a month.  Faubourg 

which  could  have  een  ^ ^ Salp^triere, 

3.i„hMarc,l.betwee„La  Bo  b an 

„d  to  which  Madame  „t  that 

tion.  gave  sufficient  proof  that  eveiy 


Pere  Goriot. 


18 


i house  was  weighted  with  the  cares  of  poverty.  In  fact, 
the  wretchedness  of  the  whole  place  was  reflected  in 
the  shabby  dress  of  its  inmates.  All  the  men  wore 
frock-coats  of  an  uncertain  color,  frayed  linen,  thread- 
bare trousers,  and  boots  or  shoes  which  would  have 
been  flung  away  in  the  more  prosperous  parts  of  the 
city.  The  gowns  of  the  women  were  shabby,  dyed, 
and  faded,  their  lace  darned,  their  gloves  shiny  from 
long  service,  their  collars  soiled,  and  their  frayed 

at  the  edges.  Such  were  the  clothes  they  wore,  and 
yet  the  wearer§  themselves  looked  sound  ; their  consti- 
|tutions  appeared  to  have  resisted  the  storms  of  life ; 
(their  cold,  hard,  washed-out  countenances  resembled 
(the  effigy  on  a well-worn  silver  coin ; their  withered 
lips  covered  teeth  still  keen.  They  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  having  had,  or  having  still,  a share  in  some  life- 
drama  5 not  a drama  acted  before  the  foot-lights  amid 
painted  scenery,  but  a drama  of  life  itself,  dumb,  icy, 
yet  living,  and  acted  with  throbbing  hearts,  — a drama 
going  on,  and  on,  without  conclusion. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  in  the  habit  of  wear- 
ing a dingy  green-silk  shade  over  her  weak  eyes,  — a 
shade  stiffened  by  a wire  rim,  which  must  have  scared 
the  very  Angel  of  Pity.  Her  shawl,  with  its  melan- 
choly mangy  fringes,  seemed  wrapped  about  a skeleton. 
What  drop  of  acid  in  her  cup  of  life  had  deprived  this 
forlorn  creature  of  all  feminine  lines  of  grace  ? She 
must  have  had  them  once.  Had  she  lost  them  through 
her  faults,  her  sorrows,  her  cupidity  ? Had  she  once 
loved,— not  wisely?  Was  she  expiating  the  insolent 
triumphs  of  her  youth  by  a despised  old  age?  Her 
blank  gaze  chilled  you  j her  sapless  features  made  yon 

L 


14 


Pere  Groriot. 


shudder;  her  voice  was  like  that  of  a cricket  in  the 
bushes,  lamenting  shrilly  the  approach  of  winter  She 
said  that  she  had  once  taken  care  of  an  old  gentleman 
alSicted  with  an  incurable  disease,  who  had  been  cast 
off  by  his  children  under  the  belief  that  he  had  no 
property.  The  old  man,  however,  had  saved  money, 
and  left  her  an  annuity  of  a thousand  francs,  whmh 
his  heirs-at-law  disputed  at  every  payment,  reviving 
scandals  of  which  she  was  the  object.  Though  the 
play  of  passions  had  seared  her  face,  she  retained  some 
slight  traces  of  past  beauty,  and  also  a certain  delicacy 
of  complexion  which  allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  her 
form  still  kept  a fragment  of  its  charm. 

Monsieur  Poiret  was  a species  of  automaton.  Had 
you  seen  him  flitting  like  a gray  ghost  through  the 
alleys  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  a shapeless  cap  on 
his  head,  his  cane  with  its  discolored  ivory  knob 
dangling  from  his  limp  hand,  his  faded  coat 
loose,  disclosing  to  view  breeches  which  seemed  well- 
nigh  empty,  lank  legs  in  blue  stockings  which  quav- 
ered like  those  of  a drunkard,  a dirty  white  waistcoat 
and  a crumpled  shirt-front  of  coarse  cotton  which 
barely  met  the  old  cravat  twisted  about  a neck  as  ong 
and  wrinkled  as  a turkey’s,  — you  might  indeed  have 
asked  if  this  spectral  figure  could  belong  to  the  gay 
race  of  those  sons  of  Japhet  who  sunned  tkem^lves 
like  butterflies  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  What 
occupation  in  life  could  have  shrunk  the  makings  of  a 
man  to  this?  What  passions  had  blotched  that  bul- 
bous  face  which  caricature  itself  could  not  exaggerate: 
What  had  he  been  ? Well,  possibly  a clerk  of  the  De- 
partment of  Justice,  - in  that  oflice  where  they  keep 


Pere  Goriot. 


15 


the  record  of  moneys  spent  on  the  black  veils  of  par- 
ricides, or  bran  for  the  baskets  of  the  guillotine,  and 
count  the  cost  of  pack-thread  to  hold  the  blades  in 
place.  Could  he  have  been  the  receiver  of  beasts  at  a 
slaughterhouse;  or  a sub-inspector  of  public  health  and 
sewers  ? Whatever  his  occupation,  he  was  surely  one 
of  the  asses  which  are  used  to  turn  the  mill  of  our  sys- 
tem of  civilization  ; a pivot  round  which  had  once  re- 
volved the  misfortunes  and  impurities  of  society;  a 
being  of  whom  we  say,  in  vulgar  formula,  “ It  takes  all 
soits  to  make  a world. ^^y  Paris  has  no  eye  for  faces 
pale  through  physical  or  moral  wretchedness.  But 
Paris  is  an  ocean  ; heave  your  lead,  and  you  will  never 
find  the  bottom.  Fathom  it,  describe  it,  — yet  how- 
ever carefully  you  search,  however  minutely  you  de- 
scribe, however  numerous  may  be  your  explorations, 
there  will  remain  some  virgin  region,  some  unsuspected 
cavern  in  the  depths,  where  flowers  or  pearls  or  hid. 
eous  sea-monsters  still  lie  safe,  undiscovered  by  the 
divers  of  literature.  The  Maison  Vauquer  is  one  of 
these  hidden  monsters. 

Two  figures  stand  out  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
rest  of  the  household.  Though  Mademoiselle  Victor- 
ine  Taillefer  was  of  a sickly  paleness  like  a girl  in 
feeble  health,  and  though  this  paleness,  joined  to  an 
habitual  expression  of  sadness  and  self-restraint,  linked 
her  with  the  general  misery  which  formed  the  back- 
ground  of  the  life  about  her,  yet  her  face  was  not  an 
old  face,  and  her  movements  and  her  voice  were  young 
and  sprightly.  She  seemed  like  a sickly  shrub  trans- 
planted into  uncongenial  soil.  Her  fair  complexion, 
her  auburn  hair,  her  too-slender  figure,  gave  her  the 


16 


Pere  Groriot. 


grace  which  modern  critics  find  in  the  art  of  the  Mid 
die  Ages.  Her  eyes,  which  were  gray  with  a radiation 
of  dark  streaks,  expressed  the  sweetness  and  resigna- 
tion of  a Christian.  Her  dress  was  simple  and  cheap, 
but  it  revealed  a youthful  shape.  She  was  pretty  by 
juxtaposition.  [Had  she  been  happy  she  might  have 
been  lovely ; for  happiness  lends  poetic  charm  to 
women,  and  dress  adorns  them  like  a delicate  tinge  of 
rouge.  If  the  pleasures  of  a ball  had  called  out  the 
rose-tints  on  her  pallid  face ; if  the  comforts  and  elegan- 
cies of  life  had  filled  out  and  remodelled  her  cheeks, 
already,  alas ! too  hollow ; if  love  had  ever  brightened 
her  sad  eyes,  — then  Victorine  might  have  held  her  own 
among  the  fairest  of  her  sex  and  age.  She  needed 
two  things,  — two  things  which  are  the  second  birth  of 
women,  — the  pretty  trifies  of  her  sex,  and  the  shy 
delight  of  love-letters.  The  poor  girl’s  story  told  at 
length  would  fill  a volume.  Her  father  believed  that 
he  had  reasons  for  not  acknowledging  her  ; he  refused 
to  let  her  live  with  him,  and  only  gave  her  six  hundred 
francs  a year  for  her  support ; moreover  he  had  arranged 
to  leave  his  fortune  wholly  to  his  son.  Madame  Couture 
was  a distant  relative  of  Victorine’s  mother,  who  had 
died  of  sorrow  in  her  arms ; and  she  had  brought  up 
the  little  orphan  as  her  own.  Unfortunately,  the 
widow  of  a paymaster  in  the  army  of  the  French 
Republic  had  nothing  but  her  dower  and  her  pension. 
The  time  might  come  when  she  would  have  to  leave 
the  poor  girl,  without  money  or  experience,  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  a cruel  world.  The  good  woman 
took  Victorine  to  mass  every  Sunday,  and  to  confession 
twice  a month,  hoping  to  prepare  her  for  the  chances 


Pere  Groriot. 


11 


of  her  fate  by  making  her  a pious  woman.  She  was 
right ; this  cast-off  daughter  might  come  to  find  in  her 
religion  a refuge  and  a home.  Meantime  poor  Victor- 
ine  loved  her  father,  and  once  a year  she  went  to  his 
house  to  assure  him  of  the  dying  forgiveness  of  her 
mother.  In  vain  she  knocked  at  that  closed  door ; it 
was  inexorably  shut.  Her  brother,  who  alone  could 
have  interceded  in  her  behalf,  neglected  her,  and  gave 
her  neither  sympathy  nor  succor.  She  prayed  to 
God  to  enlighten  the  eyes  of  her  father  and  to  soften 
the  heart  of  her  brother  ; but  her  prayers  conveyed 
no  reproach.  When  Madame  Couture  and  Madame 
Vauquer  strove  for  words  to  characterize  this  barbar- 
ous conduct,  and  loaded  the  millionaire  with  abuse, 
Victorine  interposed  her  gentle  remonstrance  like  the 
cry  of  the  wounded  wood-pigeon,  whose  note  of  suffer- 
ing is  still  the  note  of  love. 

Eugene  de  Rastignac  had  a face  altogether  of  the 
sunny  south, — a pure  skin,  black  hair,  and  blue  eyes. 
His  bearing,  his  manners,  his  habitual  attitudes,  marked 
him  as  belonging  to  a good  family,  where  his  earliest 
training  must  have  been  in  accordance  with  the  tradi- 
tions of  high  birth.  If  ordinarily  he  was  careful  of  his 
clothes,  wearing  on  working-days  coats  of  a past  fashion, 
he  always  dressed  with  care  and  elegance  when  he 
went  into  the  world.  At  other  times  he  appeared 
in  an  old  frock-coat,  an  old  waistcoat,  a shabby  black 
cravat  tied  in  a wisp  after  the  manner  of  students, 
trousers  out  of  shape,  and  boots  resoled. 

Between  these  two  young  people  and  the  rest  of  the 
household  Vautrin  — the  man  of  forty,  with  dyed  whis- 
kers — formed  a connecting  link.  He  was  one  of  those 

2 


18 


Pere  Croriot. 


whom  people  choose  to  call  “ a jolly  fellow ! ” He  had 
broad  shoulders,  a deep  chest,  muscles  well  developed, 
and  strong  square  hands,  the  knuckles  marked  by  tufts 
of  red  hair.  His  face,  prematurely  furrowed,  showed 
signs  of  a hard  nature  not  in  keeping  with  his  com- 
pliant and  cordial  manners;  but  his  strong  barytone 
voice,  which  harmonized  with  his  boisterous  gayety,  was 
not  unpleasing.  He  was  obliging  and  always  cheerful. 
If  a lock  were  out  of  order  he  would  unscrew  it,  mend 
it,  oil  it,  file  it,  and  put  it  on  again,  saying,  “ Oh,  I know 
how ! ” In  fact  he  knew  something  about  many  things ; 
about  ships,  the  sea;  France,  foreign  countries,  business, 
public  events,  men,  laws,  hotels,  pidsons.  If  any  one 
complained  of  hard  luck,  Vautrin  offered  his  services. 
Several  times  he  had  lent  money  to  Madame  Vauquer, 
and  even  to  her  guests ; and  these  creditors  would  have 
died  sooner  than  not  repay  him,  for  in  spite  of  his  ap- 
parent good  temper  there  was  a keen  and  resolute  ex- 
pression in  his  eye  which  inspired  them  with  fear.  His 
very  method  of  spitting  marked  his  imperturbable  sang- 
froid, — the  sang-froid  which  shrinks  from  no  crime  to 
escape  personal  difficulty  or  danger.  A stern  judge, 
his  keen  eye  pierced  to  the  core  of  all  questions,  into 
all  consciences,  and  even  into  the  depths  of  all  feelings. 
His  custom  was  to  go  out  after  breakfast,  to  come 
home  to  dinner,  to  be  off  again  for  the  whole  evening, 
and  to  get  in  late  at  night  with  a latch-key  which 
Madame  Vauquer  intrusted  to  him  alone.  He  was  on 
the  best  terms  with  his  landlady,  calling  her  “ Mamma 
Vauquer,”  and  catching  her  affectionately  round  the 
waist,  — a flattery  not  understood  on  its  real  merits,  for 
the  widow  believed  it  an  easy  feat,  whereas  Vautrin 


Pere  Groriot. 


19 


was  the  only  man  in  the  house  whose  arms  were  long 
enough  to  encircle  that  solid  circumference.  One  trait 
of  his  character  was  to  pay  lavishly  fifteen  francs  a 
month  for  the  gloria  (coffee  with  brandy  in  it)  which 
he  took  at  dessert.  People  less  superficial  than  those 
about  him,  who  were  chiefly  young  men  carried  away  by 
the  whirl  of  life  in  the  great  city,  or  old  men  indifferent 
to  all  that  did  not  touch  them  personally,  would  have 
examined  into  the  doubts  with  which  Vautrin  inspired 
them.  He  knew,  or  guessed,  the  private  affairs  of  every 
one  about  him  ; yet  no  one  knew  anything  of  his,  nor 
of  his  thoughts  and  occupations.  He  set  up  his  good 
humor,  his  obligingness,  and  his  unfailing  gayety  as  a 
barrier  between  himself  and  others  ; but  through  it 
gleamed  from  time  to  time  alarming  flashes  of  his  hid- 
den nature.  Sometimes  a saying  worthy  of  J uvenal  es- 
caped his  lips,  as  if  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  scout  at  law, 
to  lash  society,  or  drag  to  light  its  inconsistencies ; as 
if  he  cherished  some  grudge  against  the  cause  of  order, 
or  hid  some  mystery  in  the  dark  recesses  of  his  life. 

Attracted,  unconsciously,  by  the  strength  of  one  man 
and  the  beauty  of  the  other.  Mademoiselle  Taillefer 
divided  her  shy  glances  and  her  secret  thoughts  between 
the  man  of  forty  and  the  law  student.  Neither  of 
them  appeared  to  take  notice  of  her,  although  her  posi- 
tion might  at  any  time  undergo  a change  which  would 
make  her  a match  worth  looking  aftei*.  None  of 
Madame  Vauquer’s  guests  were  at  much  pains  to  in- 
quire into  the  misfortunes  which  their  co-inmates 
claimed  to  have  suffered.  Profound  indifference,  min- 
gled with  distrust,  was  the  upshot  of  their  relations  to 
each  other.  They  knew  they  had  no  help  to  offer; 


*20 


Pere  Groriot, 


each  had  heard  the  tale  of  sorrows  till  their  cup  of  con- 
solation held  nothing  but  the  dregs.  Like  old  married 
couples,  they  had  nothing  more  to  say  to  one  another ; 
their  daily  intercourse  was  now  mechanical ; the  fric- 
tion of  machinery  unoiled.  All  could  pass  a blind  man 
in  the  street  without  looking  at  him,  or  listen,  un- 
touched, to  a tale  of  woe  ; death  was  for  them  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  of  poverty,  and  they  stood  coldly 
beside  its  bitterest  agony.  The  happiest  among  these 
hapless  beings  was  Madame  Vauquer  herself,  the  ruler 
of  this  asylum  for  broken  lives.  To  her  the  little  garden, 
arid  as  a steppe^  chill,  silent,  dusty,  humid,  was  a smiling 
pleasure-ground.  To  her  the  dismal  yellow  house,  which 
smelt  of  the  corrosions  of  life,  had  its  delights.  Its 
dungeon  cells  belonged  to  her.  She  fed  the  prisoners 
who  lived  in  them,  — prisoners  sentenced  to  hard 
labor  for  life,  — and  she  knew  how  to  make  her  au- 
thority respected.  Indeed,  as  she  said  to  herself,  where 
could  these  people  find  elsewhere  in  Paris,  at  so  low  a 
price,  food  that  was  as  wholesome  and  as  plentiful  as 
that  which  she  gave  them  ? Each  had  his  own  room 
which  he  was  free  to  keep  sweet  and  clean,  if  he  could 
not  make  it  elegant  or  comfortable.  They  knew  this 
well  themselves,  and  had  she  been  guilty  of  even  cry- 
ing injustice  her  victims  would  have  borne  it  without 
complaint. 

Such  a household  might  be  expected  to  offer,  and 
did  offer,  in  miniature,  the  elements  of  a complete  so- 
ciety. Among  the  eighteen  inmates,  there  was,  as  may 
be  seen  in  schools  or  in  the  great  world,  one  repulsed 
and  rejected  creature,  — a souffre-clouleur,  the  butt  of 
jests  and  ridicule.  At  the  beginning  of  his  second 


Pere  Groriot. 


21 


tfear,  this  figure  became  to  Eugene  de  Eastignac  the 
most  prominent  of  those  among  whom  necessity  com- 
pelled  him  to  live.  This  pariah  of  the  household  was 
the  old  paste-maker,  Pere  Goriot,  upon  whose  head  a 
painter  would  have  cast,  as  the  historian  casts,  all  the 
light  of  the  picture.  How  came  this  scorn  dashed 
with  a tinge  of  hate,  this  persecution  mixed  with  a 
passing  pity,  this  insolence  towards  misfortune,  to  fall 
upon  the  oldest  member  of  the  pension  ? Had  he  pro- 
voked such  treatment  by  oddities  and  absurdities  less 
easily  forgiven  by  his  fellows  than  actual  vice  ? These 
are  questions  which  bear  closely  on  many  an  instance 
of  social  injustice.  Human  nature  is  hard  on  those 
who  suffer  humbly  from  a consciousness  that  they  are 
too  feeble  to  resist,  or  wearily  indifferent  to  their  fate. 
Do  we  not  all  like  to  test  our  power  by  working  our 
will  on  something  or  on  somebody  ? The  weakest  of 
beings,  the  ragged  street-boy,  rings  our  door-bell  and 
runs  away,  or  climbs  some  monument  to  scratch  his 
name  upon  the  unsullied  marble. 


22 


Pere  Goriot. 


II. 

In  1813,  Pere  Goriot,  then  about  sixty-two  years 
of  age,  came  to  live  at  Madame  Vauquer’s,  having, 
as  he  said,  given  up  business.  He  took  the  apart- 
ment afterwards  occupied  by  Madame  Couture,  paying 
twelve  hundred  francs  a year,  like  a man  to  whom  five 
louis  more  or  less  was  of  little  consequence.  Madame 
V^auquer  fitted  up  at  his  expense  the  three  rooms  of 
this  suite  for  a sum  which  just  repaid  her,  she  said,  for 
the  outlay.  They  were  miserably  furnished  with  yel- 
low cotton  curtains,  chairs  of  painted  pine  covered  with 
worsted  velvet,  and  a few  worthless  colored  prints  upon 
the  walls,  which  were  hung  with  papers  rejected,  one 
might  suppose,  by  the  wineshops  of  the  suburbs.  Per- 
haps the  careless  liberality  shown  in  this  transaction 
by  Pere  Goriot,  who  at  that  period  was  respectfully 
called  Monsieur  Goriot,  caused  his  landlady  to  consider 
him  as  a simpleton  who  knew  little  of  business. 

Goriot  brought  with  him  a well-furnished  wardrobe, 
suitable  for  a rich  tradesman  who  on  retiring  from 
business  could  afford  to  make  himself  comfortable. 
Madame  Vauquer  especially  admired  eighteen  linen 
shirts  of  the  best  quality,  to  which  attention  was  at- 1 
tracted  by  two  pins  worn  on  his  shirt-frill  and  united 
by  a chain,  in  each  of  which  shone  a large  diamond. 
The  old  man  usually  wore  a light-blue  coat,  and  he 


Pere  Groriot. 


23 


put  on  a clean  white  waistcoat  every  day,  beneath 
which  rose  and  fell  his  portly  stomach,  upheaving  as 
he  breathed  a thick  gold  chain  adorned  with  seals  and 
charms.  His  snufF-box  was  of  gold,  with  a medallion 
on  the  cover  containing  hair,  which  created  a suspicion 
of  bonnes  fortunes;  and  when  Madame  Vauquer  ac- 
cused him  of  gallantry,  the  complacent  smile  of  a man 
whose  vanity  is  tickled  flickered  on  his  lips.  His 
closets,  ses  armoires  (he  pi-onounced  the  word  ormoires 
after  the  manner  of  common  people),  were  full  of  sil- 
ver plate,  the  relics  of  his  housekeeping.  The  widow’s 
eyes  sparkled  when  she  helped  him  to  unpack  and 
arrange  these  treasures,  — ladles,  forks,  and  spoons; 
castors,  sauce-boats,  dishes,  and  a breakfast  service  in 
silver  gilt,  the  various  pieces  weighing  many  ounces, 
all  of  which  he  had  been  unwilling  to  part  with  on 
breaking  up  his  home,  many  of  them  recalling  events 
which  were  sacred  in  his  family  history.  “ This,”  he 
said  to  Madame  Vauquer  as  he  put  away  a dish  and 
porringer,  on  the  cover  of  which  were  two  turtle-doves 
fondling  each  other  with  their  beaks,  “ was  the  first 
gift  my  wife  made  me.  She  gave  it  to  me  on  the  an- 
niversary of  our  wedding-day.  Poor  dear  ! it  cost  her 
all  the  little  money  she  had  saved  up  before  our  mar- 
riage. Ah!  Madame,  I would  rather  scratch  a living 
with  my  nails  out  of  the  ground  than  part  with  that 
porringer ; but,  thank  God ! I can  drink  my  coffee  out 
of  it  as  long  as  I live.  I am  not  badly  off:  I have 
plenty  of  bread  baked,  as  they  say,  for  some  time  to 
come.” 

In  addition  to  this,  Madame  Vauquer’s  prying  eyes 
had  seen  a certain  entry  in  what  is  called  the  great 


24 


Pere  Goriot, 


b6ok,  le  grand  Iwre,  — that  is,  the  list  of  those  who 
have  money  in  the  state  funds,  — from  which,  roughly 
calculated,  it  was  evident  that  the  worthy  Goriot  had 
an  income  of  eight  to  ten  thousand  francs.  From  that 
moment  Madame  Vauquer,  nee  de  Conflans,  who  was 
then  forty-eight  years  old,  and  owned  to  thirty-nine, 
nourished  a dream  of  ambition.  Though  Monsieur 
Goriot’s  eyelids  were  swollen,  and  an  obstruction  of 
the  tear-passage  caused  him  to  wipe  his  eyes  fre- 
quently, she  thought  his  person  agreeable  and  his 
manners  comme-il-faut.  Moreover,  the  stout  calves  of 
his  legs,  and  even  his  long  square  nose,  seemed  to  her 
to  denote  points  of  character  which  suited  her  inten- 
tions ; and  this  opinion  was  confirmed  by  the  round- 
ness of  his  face  and  the  silliness  of  its  expression. 
She  put  him  down  for  a sturdy  fool,  whose  mind  ran 
to  sentiment,  and  who  could  be  led  by  his  feelings 
in  any  direction.  His  hair,  which  he  wore  in  “ pigeon- 
wings,”  ailes  de  pigeon^  — that  is  to  say,  drawn  low 
over  the  ears  and  tied  behind  in  a queue,  — was  dressed 
and  powdered  daily  by  the  hair-dresser  of  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique,  who  arranged  five  points  on  his  low 
forehead,  which  she  thought  very  becoming.  Though 
somewhat  uncouth  in  manner,  he  was  always  spick  and 
span  in  his  dress,  and  took  snuff  with  so  opulent  an 
air,  scattering  it  liberally  as  if  confident  the  box  would 
be  always  full  of  the  very  best,  that  the  night  after  his 
arrival  Madame  Vauquer  went  to  bed  turning  over  in 
her  mind  a project  for  shuffling  ofl  the  shroud  of  Vau- 
quer and  coming  to  life  again  as  Madame  Goriot.  To 
be  married  ; to  get  rid  of  \\^x  pension  ; to  have  the  arm 
of  this  high  flower  of  bourgeoisie ; to  become  a nota- 


Pere  CrorioU 


25 


bility  in  her  own  quarter;  to  quUer  once  a month  for 
the  poor;  to  make  up  little  parties  for  Sunday  jaunts 
to  Choisy,  Soissy,  or  Gentilly ; to  go  to  the  play  when 
she  liked,  and  sit  in  a box  she  should  pay  for,  instead 
of  waiting  for  free  passes  given  to  her  occasionally  and 
only  in  July, — in  short,  all  the  Eldorado  of  Parisian 
lower-class  middle-life  seemed  possible  for  her  if  she 
married  Monsieur  Goriot.  She  had  never  told  any  one 
that  she  had  forty  thousand  francs  laid  by,  scraped 
together  sou  by  sou.  Thus  she  was  an  equal  match 
for  the  worthy  man  in  point  of  fortune ; and  as 
to  everything  else,  I am  quite  as  good  as  he,”  she 
reflected,  turning  over  in  her  bed,  where  the  fat 
Sylvie  found  every  morning  the  impress  of  her  fair 
form. 

From  that  day,  and  for  about  three  months,  Madame 
Vauquer  employed  the  hair-dresser  of  Monsieur  Goriot 
and  made  some  improvements  in  her  toilette,  which 
she  explained  by  the  necessity  of  keeping  the  decorum 
of  her  house  on  a level  with  the  distinguished  people 
who  frequented  it.  She  did  her  best  to  make  the 
sion  select,  by  giving  out  that  henceforth  she  would 
admit  no  one  who  had  not  some  special  pretentions  to 
gentility.  If  a stranger  came  to  inspect  the  rooms,  he 
was  made  aware  of  the  preference  which  Monsieur 
Goriot  — ‘^one  of  the  most  distinguished  and  respect- 
able men  of  business  in  Paris  ” — had  given  to  the  es- 
tablishment. She  sent  out  a prospectus  headed  Maison^ 
Vauquer.  ‘‘  It  was,”  she  stated,  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  patronized  pensions  bourgeoises  in  the  Latin 
quarter.  It  commanded  a fine  view  of  the  valley  of 
the  Gobelins  ” (seen  from  one  window  in  the  third 


26 


Pere  Goriot. 


storey),  and  had  a lovely  garden,  at  the  end  of  which 
stretched  an  Avenue  of  Lindens.”  She  concluded  by 
extolling  its  pure  air  and  the  quiet  of  its  retired  situa- 
tion. This  prospectus  brought  her  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  de  I’Ambermesnil,  a woman  thirty-six  years  of 
age,  who  was  expecting  the  final  settlement  of  the  af- 
fairs of  her  late  husband  and  the  payments  due  to  her 
as  the  widow  of  a general  officer  who  had  died,  as  she 
phrased  it,  upon  fields  of  battle.  Madame  Vauquer 
now  took  pains  with  her  table,  made  fires  in  the  salon 
and  the  dining-room,  and  justified  her  jprospectus  so 
well  that  she  was  actually  out  of  pocket  by  her  liber- 
ality. The  countess  was  so  pleased  that  she  promised 
Madame  Vauquer,  whom  she  called  her  “dearest 
friend,”  to  bring  to  the  house  the  Baronne  de  Vau- 
merland  and  the  widow  of  Colonel  Piqueoiseau,  two 
of  her  acquaintances  then  living  at  a pension  in  the 
Marais,  — an  establishment  more  expensive  than  the 
Maison  Vauquer.  All  these  ladies  expected  to  be  in 
easy  circumstances  when  the  War  Office  made  up  its 
accounts.  “But,”  as  they  said,  “government  offices 
keep  you  waiting  so  long ! ” 

Madame  de  PAmbermesnil  used  to  join  Madame 
Vauquer  in  her  private  room  after  dinner,  where  they 
gossipped  over  small  glasses  of  ratifia  and  tit-bits  from 
the  table,  set  aside  for  the  mistress  of  the  house.  The 
countess  much  approved  the  views  of  her  hostess  as  to 
the  alliance  with  Monsieur  Goriot.  The  idea,  she  said, 
was  excellent ; she  had  planned  it  from  the  moment  of 
her  arrival. 

“ Ah  ! my  dear  lady,  he  is  all  a man  ought  to  be,” 
said  the  widow ; “ a man  thoroughly  well  preserved^ 


Fere  Gonot.  27 

He  might  make  a woman  very  happy  for  several  years 
to  come.” 

The  countess  was  not  chary  of  her  criticisms  on 
Madame  Vauquer’s  dress,  which  harmonized  ill  with 
her  intentions.  “You  must  put  yourself  on  a war- 
footing,”  she  said. 

After  much  consultation  the  two  widows  repaired  to 
the  Palais  Royal,  where,  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois,  they 
bought  a hat,  and  a bonnet  with  many  feathers.  Then 
the  countess  enticed  her  friend  to  the  famous  shop 
called  La  Petite  Jeannette,  where  they  chose  a dress 
and  mantle.  When  these  preparations  were  made,  and 
the  widow  was  fairly  under  arms,  she  looked  a good 
deal  like  the  figure  on  a sign-board  of  the  Boeuf  a la 
Mode.  However,  she  thought  herself  so  changed  for 
the  better,  and  so  much  indebted  to  her  friend,  that, 
though  naturally  stingy,  she  begged  her  acceptance  of 
a hat  costing  twenty  francs.  It  is  true  she  expected 
in  return  her  good  offices  with  Monsieur  Goriot,  and 
asked  her  to  sound  him  as  to  his  views.  Madame  de 
I’Ambermesnil  was  quite  ready  to  undertake  the  nego- 
tiation, and  got  round  the  old  gentleman  so  far  as  to 
bring  him  to  a conference ; from  which,  however,  find- 
ing him  shy  — not  to  say  refractory  — when  she  made 
advances  to  him  (on  her  own  account),  she  came  away 
disgusted,  and  pronounced  him  a mere  boor. 

“ My  angel,”  she  said  to  her  dear  friend,  you  will 
never  make  anything  of  that  man.  He  is  a miser,  a 
fool,  a perfect  wretch,  who  will  give  you  nothing  but 
annoyance.” 

Whatever  may  have  taken  place  between  Madam^e 
de  I’Ambermesnil  and  Monsieur  Goriot,  the  result  of 


28 


Fere  Groriot, 


the  interview  was  that  the  former  declared  she  would 
not  remain  in  the  house  with  him.  The  next  morning 
she  went  off,  forgetting  to  pay  her  bill,  and  leaving 
nothing  behind  her  but  a parcel  of  old  clothes  to  the 
value  of  five  francs;  and  although  Madame  Vauquer 
did  her  best  to  get  upon  her  traces,  she  could  never 
discover  in  all  Paris  the  smallest  sign  of  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  I’Ambermesnil. 

She  often  alluded  to  this  trying  affair,  and  invariably 
blamed  herself  for  her  rash  confidence  in  human  nature, 
though  she  was  in  reality  more  distrustful  than  a cat 
in  her  dealings  with  her  fellow-men.  But  like  many 
other  people,  while  suspecting  those  about  her,  she  fell 
an  easy  prey  to  persons  she  did  not  know,  — a curious 
and  contradictory  fact ; but  the  root  of  its  paradox 
will  be  found  in  the  human  heart.  There  are  people 
who  come  at  last  to  perceive  that  they  have  nothing 
more  4:o  gain  from  those  who  know  them  well.  To 
such  they  have  shown  the  hollowness  of  their  natures ; 
they  know  themselves  judged  and  severely  judged  ; yet 
so  insatiable  is  their  craving  for  flattery,  so  devouring 
their  desire  to  assume  in  the  eyes  of  others  the  virtues 
which  they  have  not  got,  that  they  court  the  esteem 
and  affection  of  strangers  who  do  not  know  them  and 
therefore  cannot  judge  them,  taking  the  risk  of  losing 
all  such  credit  eventually.  There  is  also  another  class 
of  minds  born  selfish,  who  will  not  do  good  to  friends 
or  neighbors  because  it  is  their  duty  to  do  it,  while  by 
paying  attentions  to  strangers  they  secure  a return 
of  thanks  and  praise  which  feeds  their  self-love.  Tlie 
nearer  people  stand  to  them  the  less  they  will  do  for 
them;  widen  the  circle,  and  they  are  more  ready  to 


Pere  Goriot^. 


29 


lend  a helping  hand.  Madame  Vauqiier’s  nature  was 
allied  to  both  classes ; it  was  essentially  mean,  false, 


and  sordid. 

“If  I had  been  here,”  Vautrin  used  to  say  to  her, 

“ this  would  never  have  happened.  I ’d  have  unmasked 
the  woman  fast  enough.  I know  their  tricks. 

Like  all  narrow-minded  people,  Madame  Vauquer 
never  looked  beyond  the  limits  of  the  events  around 
her,  nor  troubled  herself  about  their  hidden  causes. 
She  liked  to  blame  others  for  her  own  mistakes.  en 
this  disaster  happened,  she  chose  to  consider  the  old 
vermicelli  maker  as  the  author  of  her  woe,  and  began 
from  that  time  to  get  sober,  as  she  phrased  it  to  se 
degriser-^honX,  him.  No  sooner  did  she  recognize 
the  inutility  of  her  advances  and  of  her  outlay  upon 
allurements,  than  she  set  up  a theory  to  account  tor  it. 
The  old  man  must,  she  said,  have  liaisons  elsewhere. 
She  admitted  that  the  hopes  she  had  nursed  were  built 
upon  imaginary  foundations;  that  the  countess,  who 
appeared  to  know  what  she  was  talking  about,  was 
right  in  saying  that  nothing  could  be  made  of  sue  a 
man.  Of  course  she  went  further  in  hate  than  she  had 
gone  in  friendship,  her  hatred  not  being  the  child  ot 
fove,  but  of  hopes  disappointed.  If  the  human  heart 
pauses  to  rest  by  the  wayside,  as  it  mounts  to  the  sum- 
mits of  affection,  it  finds  no  stopping-place  when  i 


starts  on  the  down-incline. 

Monsieur  Goriot,  however,  was  her  lodger,  and  the 
widow  was  obliged  to  repress  all  outward  expression  of 
her  wounded  feelings,  to  smother  the  sighs  caused  by 
her  self-deception,  and  to  choke  down  her  desires  for 
vengeance,  like  a monk  taunted  by  his  superior.  Little 


30 


Pere  Groriot, 


minds  vent  their  feelings,  bad  or  good,  in  little  ways. 
The  widow  used  her  woman’s  wit  to  invent  subtle  per- 
secutions for  her  victim.  She  began  by  cutting  off  the 
superfluities  of  her  housekeeping.  No  more  pickles, 
no  more  anchovies,”  she  said  to  Sylvie  the  morning  she 
went  back  to  the  old  programme  ; “ pickles  and  ancho- 
vies are  delusions.”  Monsieur  Goriot,  however,  was  a 
frugal  man,  habitually  parsimonious,  as  most  men  are 
who  have  saved  up  their  fortunes  : soup,  bouilU,  and 
one  dish  of  vegetables  was,  and  always  had  been,  the 
dinner  he  liked  best ; so  that  it  was  difticult  for  Madame 
Vauquer  to  annoy  him  by  offending  his  tastes  in  this 
line.  Disheartened  by  her  failure,  she  now  began  to 
treat  him  with  contempt,  and  to  snub  him  before  the 
other  guests,  who,  chiefly  for  amusement,  joined  in  the 
persecution,  and  thus  assisted  her  revenge.  At  the  end 
of  a year  she  had  pushed  her  ill  opinion  of  him  so  far 
as  to  ask  herself  why  a man  with  eight  to  ten  thousand 
francs  a year,  and  superb  plate  and  jewelry,  should  live 
in  her  house  and  pay  a price  so  small  in  proportion  to 
his  fortune  ? 

During  the  greater  part  of  his  first  year  Goriot  had 
dined  out  once  or  twice  a week ; then  by  degrees,  only 
once  in  two  weeks.  His  absence  had  suited  Madame 
Vauquer  so  well  that  she  was  displeased  at  the  i-egie 
larity  with  which  he  now  came  to  his  meals.  This 
change  she  attributed  to  a falling  off  in  his  means ; also 
to  a wish  to  disoblige  her.  One  of  the  despicable 
i traits  in  lilliputian  natures  is  their  habit  of  attributing 
their  own  meannesses  to  others.  Unfortunately,  at  the 
end  of  his  second  year  Monsieur  Goriot  confirmed  some 
of  the  gossip  in  circulation  by  asking  Madame  Vauquer 


Pere  CrorioU 


31 


if  he  could  take  rooms  on  the  second  storey  and  pay 
only  nine  hundred  francs  a year;  and  he  became  so 
economical  that  he  went  without  a fire  in  his  room 
all  winter.  The  widow,  under  this  new  arrangement, 
demanded  payment  in  advance,  to  which  Monsieur 
Goriot  consented ; and  from  that  day  forth  she  called 
him  Pere  Goriot.  It  now  became  a question  with 
the  whole  household,  why  was  he  going  down  in  the 
world?  Difficult  to  answer.  As  the  false  countess 
had  said,  Pere  Goriot  was  reticent  and  sly.  Accord- 
ing to  the  logic  of  empty  heads  who  tattle  because 
they  have  brains  for  nothing  else,  people  who  keep 
their  own  counsel  must  have  something  suspicious  to 
conceal  The  late  distinguished  man  of  business  now 
sank  into  a cheat;  the  elderly  gallant  became  a dissi- 
pated rogue.  Some,  following  Vautrin  (who  by  this 
time  was  living  at  Madame  Vaiiquer’s),  thought  he 
dabbled  at  the  Bourse,  where,  having  ruined  himsel 
by  speculations,  he  now  picked  up  a few  francs  by 
fleecing  others.  Some  said  he  was  a petty  gambler 
playing  for  ten  francs  a night;  others  that  he  was  a 
spy  of  the  police,  though  Vautrin  declared  him  “not 
deep  enough  for  that:’’  Then  he  became  a usurer, 
lending  money  by  the  week  in  small  sums  at  extor- 
tionate interest;  finally  a speculator  in  lotteries.  In 
turn,  they  guessed  him  to  be  all  that  vice,  impotence, 
and  trickery  made  most  shameful  and  mysterious. 
Yet,  however  low  his  conduct  or  his  vices,  the  aver- 
sion he  inspired  never  went  so  far  as  to  propose  that 
he  should  leave  the  house.  He  paid  his  board  regu- 
larly^ Besides,  in  a way  they  found  him  useful.  On 
him  they  could  vent  their  good  and  evil  humors  by 


32 


Pere  Groriot, 


jests  or  stinging  sarcasms.  The  opinion  generally 
adopted  among  them  was  Madame  Vauquer’s.  Ac- 
cording to  her,  the  man  she  had  lately  pronounced 
all  that  he  ought  to  be ; a man  who  might  make  a 
woman  happy  for  years  to  come,”  was  a libertine 
with  extraordinary  tastes. 

Here  are  the  facts  on  which  the  widow  based  her 
calumnies.  Some  months  after  the  departure  of  the 
disastrous  countess  who  had  lived  six  months  at  her 
expense,  she  was  awakened  early  one  morning  by  the 
rustle  of  a silk  dress  and  the  light  foot-fall  of  a young 
woman  going  up  to  Goriot’s  apartment,  the  outer 
door  of  which  was  left  conveniently  ajar.  A few 
moments  later,  Sylvie  came  to  tell  her  that  a creature 
much  too  pretty  to  be  what  she  ought  to  be,”  dressed 
like  a goddess^  wearing  prunella  slippers  ‘‘  not  even 
muddy,”  had  glided  like  an  eel  from  the  street  to  the 
kitchen,  and  had  asked  her  the  way  to  Monsieur  Gori- 
ot’s apartment.  Mistress  and  maid  listened,  and 
caught  several  words  pronounced  in  tender  tones. 
The  visit  lasted  some  time.  When  Monsieur  Goriot 
conducted  hvs  lady  downstairs,  Sylvie  picked  up  her 
basket  and  pretended  to  be  going  to  market  as  an 
excuse  for  following  them. 

‘‘  Madame,”  she  said  to  her  mistress  when  she  re- 
turned, ‘‘Monsieur  Goriot  must  be  deucedly  rich  to 
carry  matters  in  that  way.  Would  you  believe  it?  at 
the  corner  of  the  Estrapade  there  was  a splendid  car- 
nage waiting,  and  he  put  her  into  it ! ” 

That  day  at  dinner  Madame  Vauquer  drew  down  a 
curtain  to  shade  the  old  man’s  eyes  into  which  the  sun 
was  shining. 


Fere  Ooriot, 


33 


I 86G  that  you  know  how  to  attract  pretty  women, 
Monsieur  Goriot,”  she  said  as  she  did  so;  “the  sun 
follows  you,”  alluding  by  means  of  the  proverb  to  his 
visitor.  “Well,  you  have  good  taste;  she  is  very 
pretty.” 

“ That  was  my  daughter,”  he  said,  with  a gleam  of 
pride,  which  those  present  mistook  for  the  conceit  of 
an  old  man  pretending  to  save  appearances. 

A month  after  this  visit  Monsieur  Goriot  received 
another.  His  daughter,  who  came  the  first  time  in 
morning  dress,  now  came  after  dinner  in  full  evening 
toilette.  The  company,  who  were  all  sitting  in  the 
salon,  saw,  as  she  passed,  that  she  was  a lovely  blonde, 
slender,  graceful,  and  far  too  distinguished  looking  to 
be  the  daughter  of  a Pere  Goriot. 

“Why,  he’s  got  two!”  cried  Sylvie,  who  did  not 

recognize  her. 

A few  days  later  another  daughter  came,  — tall,  dark, 
with  black  hair  and  brilliant  eyes ; she  too  asked  for 
Monsieur  Goriot. 

“ Three  ! ” said  Sylvie. 

This  lady,  who  came  early  in  the  morning  at  her 
first  visit,  came  again  a few  days  later  in  a carriage 
and  dressed  for  a ball. 

‘‘That  makes  four!  ” exclaimed  Madame  Vauquer 
and  Sylvie,  who  did  not  recognize  in  the  fine  lady  of 
the  evening  the  simply  dressed  young  woman  who 
paid  her  first  visit  on  foot  at  an  early  hour. 

Goriot  was  still  paying  twelve  hundred  francs  a 
year  when  this  took  place  ; and  Madame  V auquer  was 
indulgent,  nay,  even  amused  at  what  she  thought  his 
adroitness  in  passing  these  ladies  off  as  his  daughters 


34 


Pere  Groriot. 


Still,  as  the  visits  explained  his  indifference  to  her  own 
attractions,  she  permitted  herself  to  call  him  an  old 
scamp ; and  when,  soon  after,  he  suddenly  fell  to  pay- 
ing nine  hundred  francs  a year,  she  fiercely  asked  what 
business  he  had  to  receive  people  of  that  kind  in  her 
house.  Pere  Goriot  answered  that  the  lady  she  alluded 
to  was  his  eldest  daughter. 

“ I suppose  you  will  tell  me  next  that  you  have 
thirty-six  daughters,”  she  said  sharply. 

I have  only  two,”  he  replied,  with  the  gentleness  of 
a broken  spirit  beaten  down  to  the  docility  of  misery. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  third  year,  Pere  Goriot  re- 
duced his  expenses  still  further,  by  going  up  to  the 
third  storey  and  paying  only  forty-five  francs  a month. 
He  gave  up  snuff,  dismissed  his  barber,  and  ceased  to 
wear  powder.  When  he  appeared  for  the  first  time 
without  it,  his  landlady  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise on  seeing  the  color  of  his  hair.  It  was  a dirty, 
greenish  gray.  His  face,  which  had  grown  sadder  day 
by  day  under  the  infiuence  of  some  secret  sorrow,  was 
now  the  most  desolate  of  all  those  that  met  around 
that  dismal  dinner-table.  The  widow  had  no  longer 
any  doubt.  Here  was  a miserable  wretch  who  had 
worn  himself  out  by  his  excesses. 

When  his  stock  of  linen  was  exhausted,  he  replaced 
it  by  cotton  at  fourteen  sous  a yard.  - His  diamonds, 
his  gold  snuff-box,  his  chain,  his  jewels,  disappeared 
one  after  the  other.  The  light-blue  coat  was  given  up 
with  the  rest  of  his  comfortable  clothing,  and  he  now 
wore,  summer  and  winter,  a frock-coat  of  coarse  brown 
doth,  a waistcoat  of  cheap  cotton  and  woollen  stuff, 
and  trousers  of  gray  twill.  He  grew  thinner  and  thin- 


Pere  Goriot. 


36 


tier ; the  calves  of  his  legs  shrank ; his  face,  which 
once  had  the  beaming  roundness  of  a well-to-do  bour- 
geois^ was  now  furrowed  with  wrinkles,  the  lines  on 
his  forehead  deepened,  and  his  jaws  grew  gaunt  and 
sharp.  At  the  end  of  his  fourth  year  in  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve  he  bore  no  likeness  to  his  former  self. 
The  sound  old  paste-maker  of  sixty-two,  who  might 
have  passed  for  forty ; the  jolly,  fat  bourgeois,  foolish 
and  simple-minded,  whose  jaunty  bearing  amused  even 
those  who  passed  him  on  the  street,  and  whose  smile 
had  something  of  the  gayety  of  youth,  — seemed  now  a 
worn-out  septuagenarian,  stupid,  vacillating,  wan.  His 
lively  blue  eyes  had  tarnished  into  a dull  steel-gray.  / 
They  never  watered  now ; but  the  red  rims  still  en- 
circled them,  and  seemed  to  weep  tears  of  blood.  Some 
people  regarded  him  with  horror,  others  pitied  him. 
The  young  medical  students,  who  observed  the  drop  of 
his  under  lip  and  took  note  of  his  facial  angle,  said  to 
each  other,  after  teasing  and  tormenting  him  and  get- 
ting no  reply,  that  he  was  falling  into  imbecility. 

One  day,  after  dinner,  Madame  V auquer  said  to  him, 

“ So  your  daughters  don’t  come  to  see  you  any  more  ? ” 
in  a tone  as  though  she  doubted  the  relationship.  He 
started  as  if  she  had  pricked  him  with  a dagger. 

They  do  come  — sometimes,”  he  said  sadly. 

‘‘Ah,  ah!  so  you  still  see  them  sometimes  — somo 
limes  ? ” cried  the  students.  “ Bravo,  Pere  Goriot ! ” 

But  the  old  man  did  not  hear  the  jests  that  followed 
his  simple  answer.  He  had  fallen  back  into  that  pas- 
sive state  which  those  who  observed  him  superficially 
took  for  senile  indifference.  If  they  had  really  known 
what  was  passing  before  their  eyes,  they  might  have 


36 


Pere  Croriot. 


felt  an  interest  in  his  state  as  a moral  and  physical  ' 
problem.  But  they  did  not  know,  nor  would  it  have  \ 
been  easy  to  know,  the  old  man’s  real  life.  The  elderly  ■ 
people  of  the  pension,  who  alone  felt  any  interest  in  , 
it,  never  went  out  of  the  neighborhood,  — they  lived 
like  oysters  in  a bed ; and  as  for  the  young  men,  the 
excitements  of  their  Pai*isian  life  put  the  poor  old  man 
at  whom  they  gibed  out  of  their  heads  as  soon  as  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve. 
To  narrow  minds,  like  those  of  these  thoughtless  stu- 
dents, the  blank  misery  of  Pere  Goriot  and  his  dull 
stupidity  were  incompatible  with  the  possession  of  any 
means  or  indeed  of  any  capacity  whatever.  As  to  the 
women  whom  he  called  his  daughters,  every  one  shared 
the  opinion  of  Madame  Vauquer,  who  argued  — with 
that  severity  of  logic  which  the  habit  of  attributing  low 
motives  cultivates  in  old  women  given  over  to  gossip- 
ping— that  “if  Pere  Goriot  had  daughters  as  rich  as  j 
these  women  seemed  to  be,  he  would  not  be  living  in 
my  house,  paying  forty-five  francs  a month,  and  dress- 
ing like  a beggar.”  These  inductions  could  not  be 
gainsaid  ; so  that  by  the  end  of  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber, 1819,  the  time  of  the  opening  of  this  drama,  every 
one  in  the  house  had  made  up  his  or  her  mind  concern- 
ing the  unhappy  old  man.  He  had  never  had,  they 
declared,  either  wife  or  daughter ; he  was  a snail,  a 
mollusk,  “ to  be  classed  with  the  shell-fish,”  said  one  of 
them,  an  employe  at  a neighboring  museum.  Poiret 
was  an  eagle,  a gentleman  of  fashion,  beside  Goriot. 
Poiret  could  talk,  argue,  and  answer.  To  be  sure  he 
said  nothing,  for  his  talking,  arguing,  and  reasoning 
were  only  the  repetition  in  his  own  words  of  the  last 


Fere  (Joriot. 


37 


thi'ng  said  by  other  people.  But  at  least  he  took  a 
share  in  the  common  talk,  he  was  alive,  he  seemed  to 
have  his  faculties ; while  Pere  Goriot,  as  another  em- 
ploye at  the  museum  remarked,  was  ‘‘always  below 
zero.” 


38 


Fere  Groriot 


EuGi:NE  DE  Rastignac  had  returned  from  his  vaca® 
tion  in  a state  of  mind  not  uncommon  in  young  men  of 
talent,  or  in  those  to  whom  circumstances  of  difficulty 
impart  for  a time  the  qualities  of  picked  men.  During 
his  first  year  in  Paris  the  slight  application  required  to 
pass  through  the  first  stages  of  his  profession  had  left 
him  free  to  enjoy  the  external  charms  of  the  capital. 

A student  finds  his  time  well  filled  up  if  he  wishes  to 
study  the  windings  of  the  Parisian  labyrinth,  to  see  all 
that  is  worth  seeing  at  the  theatres,  to  know  the  cus- 
toms, to  learn  the  language,  to  get  used  to  the  special 
pleasures  of  the  great  capital,  to  ransack  all  its  corners 
good  and  bad,  to  attend  those  lectures  that  may  amuse 
him,  and  make  a mental  catalogue  of  the  treasures 
collected  in  the  museums.  He  begins  by  an  enthusi- 
asm for  some  foolery  that  he  thinks  grandiose.  He 
chooses  a hero,  — possibly  a professor  who  is  paid  to 
keep  himself  above  the  level  of  his  audience ; or  he 
pulls  up  his  cravat  and  assumes  an  attitude  at  the 
Opera-Comique,  glancing  at  some  lady  in  the  first  tier 
of  boxes.  But  after  these  initiations  he  usually  peels 
ofi*  his  husk,  enlarges  the  horizon  of  his  life,  and  ends 
by  getting  an  idea  of  the  various  human  strata  which 
make  society.  If  he  begins  by  admiring  the  carriages 
on  a fine  day  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  he  ends  by  envy-  I 
ing  those  who  own  them. 


Pere  Groriot, 


39 


Eugene  had  unconsciously  gone  through  much  of  all 
this  before  his  vacation,  when  he  went  back  to  his 
father’s  house  with  his  bachelor’s  degree  in  Law  and 
Letters.  The  faith  of  his  childhood,  his  idees  de  prov- 
ince^ gradually  outgrown,  had  left  him.  His  enlarged 
intelligence,  his  excited  ambition,  made  him  now  see 
the  true  condition  of  things  in  his  old  home.  His  father, 
mother,  two  brothers,  two  sisters,  and  an  aunt  who  had 
only  a life  income,  lived  on  the  little  estate  of  Rastig- 
nac.  This  projDgrty^at  no  time  brought  in  more  than 
.three  thousand  francs  a year,  which  was  subject  to  the 
uncertainties  attendant  upon  grape  culture;  and  yet 
out  of  that  limited  revenue  twelve  hundred  francs 
were  subtracted  for  Eugene’s  expenses.  The  sight  of 
their  perpetual  pinching,  which  they  tried  generously 
to  conceal  from  him ; the  comparison  he  was  forced  to 
make  between  his  sisters,  whom  he  once  thought  pretty 
girls,  and  the  Parisian  women  who  realized  the  loveli- 
ness of  his  boyish  dreams;  the  uncertain  prospects  of 
the  large  family  dependent  on  his  success ; the  frugality 
with  which  everything  was  cared  for ; the  wine  squeezed 
for  family  use  out  of  the  last  strainings  of  the  press ; 
together  with  innumerable  shifts  that  need  not  be  told 
here,  — increased  ten-fold  his  desires  for  success,  and 
made  him  thirst  for  the  distinctions  of  the  world.  At 
first  he  felt,  as  high-strung  spirits  do  feel,  that  he 
would  owe  nothing  except  to  his  own  merits.  But 
his  nature  was  eminently  southern ; when  the  time 
for  action  came,  he  was  liable  to  be  assailed  by  hesita- 
tions such  as  seize  men  in  mid-ocean  when  they  have 
lost  their  reckoning  and  know  not  how  to  lay  their 
course,  nor  at  what  angle  to  set  their  sails.  At  first 


40 


Pere  Groriot, 


he  had  been  eager  to  fling  himself  body  and  soul  into 
the  work  of  his  profession ; then  he  was  led  away  by 
the  importance  of  forming  social  ties.  He  observed 
the  influence  which  women  exert  upon  society  ; and 
he  suddenly  resolved  to  try  for  success  in  the  great 
world,  and  to  win  the  help  and  protection  of  women 
of  social  standing.  Surely,  they  might  be  won  by  a 
young  man,  ardent  and  intelligent,  whose  mental  gifts 
were  aided  by  the  personal  charm  of  elegance,  and 
who  possessed  the  beauty  which  eminently  attracts 
women,  — the  beauty  of  strength.* 

These  ideas  worked  within  him  as  he  walked  about 
the  fields  listening  to  the  merry  chatter  of  his  sisters, 
who  thought  him  greatly  changed.  His  aunt,  Madame 
de  Marcillac,  had  been  at  court  in  the  days  before  the 
French  Revolution,  and  her  associates  were  among 
the  greatest  people  of  that  time.  All  at  once  it  oc- 
curred to  him,  as  he  pondered  his  ambitious  designs, 
that  among  the  recollections  of  her  past  life,  with 
which  she  had  amused  his  boyhood,  were  the  elements 
of  a social  success  more  brilliant  than  any  he  could 
hope  to  attain  by  the  study  of  law.  He  questioned 
her  as  to  family  ties,  which  she  might  renew  on  his 
behalf.  After  shaking  the  branches  of  her  genealogi- 
cal tree,  the  old  lady  came  to  the  conclusion,  that,  of 
all  the  persons  who  might  be  useful  to  him  among  the 
careless  multitude  of  her  great  relatives,  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse  de  Beaus^ant  was  likely  to  prove  the  most 
available.  She  therefore  w’rote  to  this  young  woman 
an  old-fashioned  letter  of  introduction,  and  told 
Eugene  that  if  he  pleased  Madame  de  Beauseant 
she  would  undoubtedly  present  him  to  the  rest  of  his 


Pere  Groriot. 


41 


relatives.  A few  days  after  his  return  to  Paris, 
Rastignac  sent  his  aunt’s  letter  to  the  viscountess, 
who  replied  by  an  invitation  to  a ball  for  the  next 
evening. 

Such,  then,  was  the  general  situation  of  affairs  in 
the  Maison  Vauquer  at  the  end  of  November,  1819. 
Two  days  later,  Eugene,  having  been  to  Madame  de 
Beaus4ant’s  ball,  came  home  about  two  o’clock  in  the 
morning.  That  he  might  redeem  the  time  lost  in 
gayety,  he  had  made  a vow,  in  the  middle  of  a dance,  to 
sit  up  and  read  law  till  daylight.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  stayed  awake  in  that  still  and  silent  quarter  of 
Paris,  but  he  was  prepared  for  it  by  the  strong  excite- 
ment of  his  introduction  to  the  splendors  of  the  great 
world.  Eugene  had  not  dined  that  day  at  the  Maison 
Vauquer,  and  the  household  were  left  to  suppose  that 
he  would  not  return  before  daylight,  as  had  sometimes 
happened  after  a f4te  at  the  Prado,  or  a ball  at  the 
Odeon,  to  the  detriment  of  his  silk-stockings  and  the 
stretching  of  his  dancing-shoes.  Before  slipping  the 
bolts  of  the  front  door  for  the  night,  Christophe  had 
opened  it  and  stood  looking  down  the  street.  At 
that  moment  Rastignac  came  in  and  went  up  to  his 
room  without  making  any  noise,  followed  by  Chris- 
tophe who  made  a great  deal.  Eugene  took  off  his 
evening  coat,  put  on  his  slippers,  and  an  old  dressmg- 
gown,  lit  his  fire  of  fnottes,  — little  blocks  of  refuse  bark 
prepared  as  a cheap  fuel,— and  sat  down  so  quickly 
■ to  his  work  that  the  noise  of  Christophe’s  heavy  foot- 
steps drowned  the  lesser  sound  of  his  own  movements. 
He  stood  thinking  a few  moments  before  he  opened 
his  books. 


42 


Pere  Goriot. 


He  had  found  Madame  de  Beauseant  one  of  the 
queens  of  Parisian  society,  and  her  house  considered 
the  most  agreeable  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 
She  was  by  birth  and  fortune  an  acknowledged  leader 
in  the  fashionable  world.  Thanks  to  his  aunt  de  Mar- 
oillac,  the  poor  student  had  been  welcomed  in  this  brik 
liant  house ; though  as  yet  he  did  not  realize  the  extent 
of  the  favor.  To  be  admitted  into  those  gilded  salons 
was  equivalent  to  a patent  of  nobility.  Once  launched 
in  the  society  he  met  there,  the  most  exclusive  of  al’ 
societies,  he  had  obtained  the  right  to  go  everywhere. 
Dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  that  surrounded  him,  Eugene, 
after  exchanging  a few  words  with  his  hostess,  had 
given  all  his  attention  to  one  lady  in  that  circle  of 
Parisian  goddesses,  — a lady  whose  beauty  was  of  a 
type  that  attracts  at  first  sight  the  admiration  of  young 
men.  Countess  Anastasie  de  Restaud,  tall  and  well- 
made,  was  thought  to  have  one  of  the  finest  figures  in 
Paris.  With  large  dark  eyes,  beautiful  hands,  a well- 
turned  foot,  vivacity  and  grace  in  all  her  movements, 
she  was  a woman  whom  such  an  authority  as  the  Mar- 
quis de  Ronquerolles  declared  to  be  thoroughbred.” 
Her  high-strung,  nervous  temperament  had  not  im- 
p.aired  her  beauty.  The  lines  of  her  figure  were  full 
and  rounded,  though  not  at  all  inclining  to  embonpoint. 

Thoroughbred,”  pure-blooded,”  — these  expressions 
were  beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  old  forms 
of  approval,  — “angels  of  heaven,”  hyperboles  from 
Ossian,  and  all  the  mythological  vocabulary  rejected 
by  modern  dandyism.  To  Rastignac,  Madame  de 
Restaud  seemed  the  woman  who  might  serve  his  pur- 
pose. He  secured  two  dances  in  the  list  written 


Pere  G-oriot,  43 


upon  her  fan,  and  talked  to  her  during  the  pauses  of 
a quadrille. 

“ Where  may  I hope  to  meet  you  again,  Madame?” 
he  said,  with  that  insistent  admiration  which  has  so 
much  charm  for  women. 

" Oh,”  she  said,  ‘‘  in  the  Bois,  at  the  opera,  at  home, 
— everywhere.” 

And  this  bold  son  of  the  south  pressed  his  way  with 
the  charming  countess  as  far  as  a man  could  go  in  the 
intervals  of  a waltz  and  a quadrille.  When  he  told 
her  that  he  was  cousin  to  Madame  de  Beauseant,  the 
countess,  whom  he  took  for  a great  lady,  invited  him 
to  visit  her.  From  the  smile  she  gave  him  at  parting, 
Rastignac  judged  that  the  invitation  was  one  he  might 
accept  immediately.  He  had  the  good  fortune,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a 
man  too  noble  to  ridicule  his  ignorance,  — a vice  in  the 
eyes  of  the  impertinent  young  dandies  of  the  period, 
gifted  themselves  with  the  vice  of  superciliousness. 
They  were  all  there  in  full  force : the  Maulincourts, 
the  Ronquerolles,  the  Maxime  de  Trailles,  the  de  Mar- 
says,  the  Adjuda-Pintos,  in  the  glory  of  their  self- 
conceit,  and  dancing  attendance  on  the  most  elegant 
women  of  Paris,  — Lady  Brandon,  the  Duchesse  de 
Langeais,  the  Comtesse  de  Kergarouet,  Madame  de 
Serizy,  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  Comtesse  Ferraud, 
Madame  de  Lanty,  the  Marquise  d’Aiglemont,  Ma- 
dame Firmiani,  the  Marquise  de  Listomere  and  the 
Marquise  d’Espard,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 
and  the  de  Grandlieus.i  Happily,  therefore,  for  the 


44 


Pere  Goriot. 


inexperienced  student,  he  stumbled  upon  the  Marquis 
de  Montriveau,  who  was  present  in  attendance  on  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,  — a general,  a brave  soldier, 
and  simple-hearted  as  a child.  From  him  Eugene 
learned  that  Madame  de  Restaud  lived  in  the  Rue  du  r 
Helder. 

To  be  young,  to  thirst  for  distinction,  to  hunger  for 
the  smiles  of  a woman,  to  see  unclosing  before  him  the 
doors  of  these  great  mansions,  to  plant  his  foot  in  the 
Faubourg  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s,  to  bend  the  knee 
in  the  Chaussee  d’  Antin  at  Madame  de  Restaud’s,  to 
glance  through  the  long  vista  of  Parisian  salons  and 
know  himself  attractive  and  fit  to  win  help  and  protec- 
tion from  a woman,  to  feel  that  he  could  tread  firmly 
the  social  tight-rope,  where  safety  depends  upon  nerve 
and  self-confidence,  and  to  have  found  already  in  one 
of  these  rare  women  the  balance-pole  of  his  ambition, 

— with  such  thoughts,  with  visions  of  this  woman  rising 
in  the  smoke  of  his  bark  fire.  Law  on  the  one  hand. 
Poverty  on  the  other,  what  wonder  that  Eugene  pierced 
^ the  future  in  a waking  dream,  and  attained  in  fancy  to 
\his  goal,  — success  ? His  vagrant  thoughts  were  in 
full  career,  and  he  was  picturing  himself  by  the  side  of 
Madame  de  Restaud,  when  a sigh  broke  the  silence  of 
the  night,  — a sigh  so  deep  and  piteous  that  it  echoed 
in  the  heart  of  the  young  man  as  though  it  had  been 
a death-rattle. 

He  opened  his  door  softly,  and  slipping  into  the 
corridor,  saw  a line  of  light  along  Pere  Goriot’s  thresh- 
old. Fearing  that  his  neighbor  was  ill,  he  stooped 
and  looked  through  the  key-hole.  The  old  man  was 
at  work  in  a way  so  apparently  criminal  that  Rastignac 


P^re  Cforiot. 


45 


thought  the  interests  of  society  required  him  to  watch 
and  see  what  came  of  it.  Pere  Goriot  had  fastened 
two  pieces  of  plate,  a bowl  of  some  kind  with  the  dish 
belonging  to  it,  to  the  leg  of  his  table.  He  had  twisted 
a piece  of  rope  round  these  objects,  which  were  richly 
embossed,  and  was  pulling  upon  it  with  all  his  strength, 
evidently  trying  to  reduce  them  to  a mer©  lump  of 
silver. 

« The  devil ! What  a fellow ! ’’  cried  Rastignac  to 
himself,  as  he  saw  the  strong  arms  of  the  old  man 
kneading  up  the  silver  as  if  it  had  been  dough.  ‘‘  Can 
he  be  a robber;  or  a receiver  of  stolen  goods?  Does 
he  make  believe  to  be  a fool,  that  he  may  carry  on  his 
iniquities  in  secret?  Is  this  what  makes  him  live  heie 
like  a beggar?”  added  Eugene,  taking  his  eye  from 
the  key-hole. 

He  looked  again.  Pere  Goriot  had  unwound  his 
rope.  He  took  the  lump  of  silver  and  laid  it  on  the 
table,  where  he  had  spread  a cloth,  and  rolled  it  into  a 
— an  operation  he  performed  with  the  utmost  ease. 

“ Why,  he  must  have  arms  like  Augustus  the  Strong, 
King  of  Poland!”  cried  Eugene,  when  the  bar  was 
nearly  fashioned. 

' Pere  Goriot  looked  sadly  at  his  work,  and  his  tears 
fell  fast  upon  the  silver.  He  then  blew  out  the  rushlight 
I by  whose  glimmer  he  had  done  the  deed,  and  Eugene 
: heard  him  lie  down  upon  his  bed  with  a heavy  sigh. 

He  must  be  mad  1 ” thought  the  student. 

‘‘  Poor  child  1 ” groaned  Pere  Goriot. 

On  hearing  these  words  Rastignac  suddenly  resolved 
I to  say  nothing  about  what  he  had  seen,  and  not  to 
condemn  his  neighbor  too  hastily.  He  was  about  to 


P^re  Groriot. 


16 

return  to  his  room  when  he  became  aware  of  another 
noise,  and  one  difficult  to  define,  as  if  men  in  felt  shoes 
were  treading  softly  on  the  stairs.  Eugene  listened, 
and  was  sure  that  he  heard  the  breathing  of  two  men. 
No  door  creaked,  and  no  distinct  steps  were  heard,  but 
he  caught  a sudden  gleam  of  light  on  the  second  storey 
shining  through  the  chinks  of  Vautrin’s  door. 

‘‘  Mysteries  enough  for  one  night  in  a pension  hour- 
geoise^"*  he  said  to  himself.  He  went  down  a few  stairs 
and  listened  intently.  The  chink  of  gold  coin  struck 
his  ear.  In  a few  moments  the  light  was  extinguished, 
the  breathing  of  two  men  was  again  heard,  but  again 
no  door  creaked.  The  men  were  going  softly  down  the 
stairs,  and  the  slight  noise  of  their  steps  died  away. 

Who  is  there  ? ” cried  Madame  Vauquer,  opening 
a window  in  her  apartment  which  looked  on  the  stairs. 

“ I have  just  come  in.  Mamma  Vauquer,”  replied  the 
strong  voice  of  Vautrin. 

“ That ’s  odd  ” said  Eugene  returning  to  his  chamber, 
“for  I am  certain  I saw  Christophe  slip  the  bolts! 
They  say  you  must  sit  up  all  night  in  Paris  if  you  want 
to  know  what  your  neighbors  do.” 

His  dreams  of  amorous  ambition  being  dispelled  by 
these  interruptions,  Eugene  now  began  to  study ; but 
with  little  profit.  His  mind  wandered  to  the  suspicions 
roused  by  Pere  Goriot,  then  to  the  face  of  Madame  de 
Restaud  rising  before  him  as  the  pharos  of  a brilliant 
destiny ; and  before  long  he  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep 
I with  his  hands  clinched.  Out  of  every  ten  nights  which 
I young  people  vow  to  study  seven  are  spent  in  sleep. 
Ah  ! we  must  be  more  than  twenty  to  stay  awake  all 
night. 


Pere  GorioU 


47 


IV. 

The  next  morning  Paris  was  enveloped  in  a dense 
’og;  one  of  those  fogs  that  wrap  themselves  about  the 
3ity  and  make  the  atmosphere  so  dark  that  even  punc- 
ual  people  lose  note  of  time.  Business  engagements 
ire  not  kept,  and  many  think  it  eight  o’clock  when  it 
s nearly  midday.  It  was  half-past  nine,  and  Madame 
t^auquer  was  not  out  of  bed.  Christophe  and  Sylvie, 
vho  were  both  behindhand,  were  taking  their  coffee,  — 
nade  with  the  top  skimmings  of  the  milk,  the  rest  of 
v^hich  Sylvie  boiled  a long  time  to  thicken  it,  so  that 
Vladame  Vauquer  might  not  discover  the  tithe  thus 
llegally  levied. 

Sylvie,”  said  Christophe,  soaking  his  first  bit  of 
oast,  “ Monsieur  Vautrin  — a good  fellow  all  the  same 
— had  two  more  men  to  see  him  last  night.  If  Madame 
isks  about  it,  you  need  n^t  say  much.” 

Did  he  give  jou  anything?  ” 

“ Paid  me  five  francs  for  his  month  ; that ’s  as  much 
IS  to  say,  ‘ Hold  your  tongue.’  ” 

“ He  and  Madame  Couture,”  said  Sylvie,  are  not 
nean  ; all  the  rest  would  like  to  take  back  with  their 
eft  hands  what  their  right  hands  give  us  on  New 
fear’s  Day.” 

‘‘  And  what ’s  that^  anyhow  ? ” cried  Christophe.  A 
niserable  five-franc  piece,  — that ’s  all ! There ’s  Pere 


48 


Pere  Groriot, 


Goriot,  who  has  blacked  his  own  boots  these  two 
months.  That  old  miser,  Poiret,  won’t  use  blacking  ; 
he’d  drink  it  sooner  than  put  it  on  his  broken  old 
shoes.  As  to  that  slip  of  a student,  he  only  gives  me 
forty  sous  a month.  Forty  sous  doesn’t  pay  for  my 
brushes  ; and  he  sells  his  old  clothes  into  the  bargain 
What  a hovel,  to  be  sure ! ” 

“Bah !”  said  Sylvie,  slowly  sipping  her  coffee,  “ oui 
places  are  the  best  in  the  quarter.  We  do  very  well 
But  as  to  that  big  Vautrin  — Christophe,  did  anybody 
ever  ask  you  about  him  ? ” 

“Yes,  I met  a gentleman  a few  days  ago  in  tht 
street,  and  said  he,  ‘ Have  n’t  you  got  at  your  house  a 
stout  gentleman  who  dyes  his  whiskers  ? ’ I said,  ‘No 
our  stout  gentleman’s  whiskers  are  not  dyed  ; a man 
who  goes  the  pace  he  does  has  n’t  the  time  to  dye  hh 
whiskers.’  I told  Monsieur  Vautrin  about  it,  and  he 
said,  ‘ Quite  right,  my  boy ; always  answer  such  ques- 
tions like  that.  There ’s  nothing  more  disagreeable 
than  to  have  people  finding  out  your  little  infirmities 
Marriages  can  be  balked  that  way.’  ” | 

“Weil,  in  the  market  the  other  day,”  said  Sylvie 
“ they  tried  to  lime  me  too.  A man  asked  if  I hac 
"ever  seen  him  putting  on  his  shirt.  Think  of  that 
now! — Goodness!”  she  cried,  interrupting  herself 
“ there ’s  a quarter  to  ten  striking  on  the  Val  de  Grace 
and  everybody  in  bed ! ” 

“ Pooh  ! they  are  all  out.  Madame  Couture  and  hei 
young  person  went  to  mass  at  Saint-Etienne’s  at  eight  ^ 
o’clock.  Pfere  Goriot  was  off  early  with  a bundle  ; the : 
student  won’t  be  back  till  after  lecture.  I saw  them 
all  go  out  as  I was  cleaning  my  stairs.  Pere  Goriot^ 


Pere  Croriot, 


49 


knocked  me  as  he  passed  with  the  thing  he  was  carry- 
ing ; it  was  as  hard  as  iron.  What  on  earth  is  he 
about,  that  old  fellow  ? All  the  rest  of  them  spin  him 
round  like  a top.  But  he ’s  a good  man,  I can  tell  you ; 
worth  more  than  the  whole  of  them  put  together.  He 
does  not  give  me  a great  deal,  but  the  ladies  where  he 
sends  me  give  famously.  They  are  finely  dressed  out, 
I can  tell  you.” 

‘^'Them  that  he  calls  his  daughters, — hein  ? Why, 
there ’s  a dozen  of  them  ! ” 

‘‘  I only  go  to  two,  — the  two  that  came  here.” 

“ There  ! I hear  Madame  getting  up.  She  ’ll  make 
an  uproar  about  it ’s  being  late.  I must  go.  Look 
after  the  milk,  Christophe,  and  see  that  the  cat  does  n’t 
get  it.” 

So  saying,  Sylvie  went  upstairs  to  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ Why,  Sylvie,  how  is  this  ? A quarter  to  ten,  and 
^you  have  let  me  sleep  so  late.  I have  slept  like  a 
dormouse.  Such  a thing  never  happened  to  me 
before.” 

^‘It’s  the  fog;  you  could  cut  it  with  a knife.” 

“ But  about  breakfast  — ” 

Bah ! the  devil  got  into  the  lodgers,  and  they 
turned  out  dQ8  le patron-jaquet  ” (at  daybreak). 

Sylvie,  do  speak  properly,  and  say  le  pair 

‘‘  Well,  Madame,  any  way  you  like.  But  you  fil  all 
breakfast  to-day  at  ten  o’clock.  Old  Michonneau  and 
Poiret  are  not  out  of  their  beds.  There ’s  no  one  else 
in  the  house,  and  those  two  sleep  like  logs  — as  they 
are.” 

“ But,  Sylvie,  why  do  you  always  mention  them  tO' 
gether,  as  if — ” 


50 


Pere  Groriot. 


‘^As  if  what?”  said  Sylvie,  with  her  horse-laugh, 

“ why  not  ? Two  make  a pair.” 

Something  happened  — very  odd  — last  night,  Syl- 
vie. How  did  Monsieur  Vautrin  get  in  after  Chris- 
tophe  had  bolted  the  front  door?” 

“ Oh  ! it  was  this  way,  Madame.  Christophe  heard 
Monsieur  Vautrin,  and  he  came  down  and  unfastened 
the  door.  That ’s  why  you  thought  — ” 

“ Give  me  my  wrapper,  and  go  and  see  about  break- 
fast. You  can  hash  up  the  remains  of  that  mutton 
with  potatoes ; and  give  us  some  baked  pears,  — those 
that  cost  three  sous  a dozen.” 

A few  minutes  later,  Madame  Vauquer  came  into  the 
dining-room  just  as  her  cat  had  knocked  off  a plate 
which  covered  a bowl  of  milk,  and  was  lapping  the 
contents. 

“ Mistigris  ! ” she  cried.  The  cat  scampered  off,  but 
soon  returned  and  rubbed  up  against  her  legs.  “Yes, 
yes,  you  old  hypocrite ! you  can  coax  when  you ’ve  ^ 
been  stealing.  Sylvie  ! Sylvie ! ” 

“Yes,  what  is  it,  Madame  ?” 

Just  see  how  much  the  cat  has  stolen  ! ” 

“ That  animal  of  a Christophe  ! it ’s  his  fault.  I told 
him  to  watch  the  cat,  and  set  the  table.  Where  has  ! 
he  gone  to,  I wonder  ? Nevermind,  Madame,  I ’ll  keep 
that  niilk  for  Pere  Goriot.  I ’ll  put  some  water  to  it,  | 
and  he  ’ll  never  know.  He  takes  no  notice  of  what  he 
puts  in  his  mouth.” 

“ What  took  him  out  early  this  morning,  the  old 
heathen  ? ” said  Madame  Vauquer,  as  she  put  the  plateg 
round  the  table. 

“ Who  knows?  He  trades  with  all  the  five  hundred 
devils.” 


Pere  Groriot, 


51 


“I  believe  I slept  too  long,”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 
“But  the  sleep  has  made  Madame  as  fresh  as  a 
rose.” 

At  this  moment  the  door-bell  rang,  and  V autrin  came 
into  the  salon^  singing  in  his  strong  voice, 

‘"‘Long  have  I wandered  here  and  there, 

And  wherever  by  chance 
I cast  my  glance  — ’ 

‘‘Oh!  Oh  I good  morning,  Mamma  Vauquer,”  he 
cried,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  his  landlady,  gallantly 
catching  her  round  the  waist. 

“ Come,  come  — don’t  1 ” she  said. 

“ Say,  ‘ Don’t,  you  impertinent  rascal ! ’ Ah ! do  as  I 
tell  you  ; say  so  ! Now  I’ll  help  you  to  set  the  table. 

I ’m  a pretty  good  fellow,  am  I not  ? 

‘ I courted  the  brown,  and  I courted  the  fair  — ' 

I saw  something  odd  just  now  — 

‘‘  ‘ When  I happened  by  chance 
To  cast  my  glance  — ' ” 

“ What  was  it  ? ” exclaimed  the  widow. 

« Pere  Goriot,  at  half-past  eight  o’clock,  in  the  gold- 
smith’s shop  in  the  Rue  Dauphine,  — the  fellow,  you 
know,  who  buys  old  spoons  and  gold  lace.  Pere  Goriot 
sold  him,  for  a good  round  sum,  some  sort  of  utensil  in 
silver-gilt  quite  skilfully  twisted  out  of  shape,  con- 
sidering he  has  never  followed  the  profession. 

“ Bah ! really  ? ” 

“ Yes,  truly.  I was  coming  back  that  way  after  see- 
ing off  a friend  by  the  Messageries  Royales.  I followed 
Goriot  to  see  what  he  would  do  next — just  for  fun. 
He  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Gres,  where  he  went  to  the 


0.  F ILL  UB. 


52 


Pere  (roriot. 


house  of  an  old  usurer  whom  everybody  knows,  named 
Gobseck,  — a thorough  rascal,  capable  of  turning  his 
father’s  bones  into  dominos  ; a Jew,  an  Arab,  a Greek, 
a Bohemian,  a fellow  confoundedly  hard  for  a man  to 
rob ; puts  all  his  money  into  the  bank  ” 

But  what  does  this  old  Goriot  really  do  ? ” 

“ He  does  nothing,”  said  Vautrin  ; ‘‘  he  undoes.  He 
is  fool  enough  to  ruin  himself  for  worthless  women, 
who  — ” 

‘‘  He ’s  coming  in,”  said  Sylvie. 

Christophe ! ” called  Pere  Goriot  from  without, 
come  up  to  my  room.” 

Christophe  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  came  back  for  his 
hat  in  a few  moments. 

Where  are  you  going  ?”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ On  a message  for  Monsieur  Goriot.” 

What  have  you  got  there?  ” cried  Vautrin,  snatch- 
ing a letter  out  of  Christophe’s  hand  and  reading  the 
address,  — To  Madame  la  Comtesse  Anastasie  de 
Pestaud. 

“ Where  are  you  going  to  take  it  ? ” he  continued, 
giving  the  letter  back  to  Christophe. 

“ Rue  du  Helder.  I was  told  to  give  it  into  the 
hands  of  Madame  la  comtesse  herself.” 

“ I wonder  what  ^s  inside  of  it  ? ” said  Vautrin,  tak- 
ing it  back  again,  and  holding  it  up  to  the  light;  “a 
bank-note  ? ISTo  — ” he  peeped  into  the  envelope  — 
it ’s  a cancelled  note ! ” he  cried.  “ What  a gal- 
lant old  rascal ! Be  off,  my  boy  ! ” he  added,  putting 
the  palm  of  his  big  hand  on  Christophe’s  head,  and 
spinning  him  round  like  a thimble.  “You  ought  U 
get  a good  pour-hoireP 


Fere  Goriot. 


53 


The  table  being  set,  Sylvie  proceeded  to  boil  the 
milk  ; Madame  Vauquer  lit  the  dining-room  stove,  and 
Vautrin  helped  her,  still  humming,  — 

“ Long  liave  I wandered  here  and  there.” 

By  the  time  all  was  ready,  Madame  Couture  and 
Mademoiselle  Taillefer  came  in. 

“ Where  have  you  been  so  early,  my  dear  lady  ?” 
said  Madame  Vauquer  to  Madame  Couture. 

“ We  have  been  to  pray  at  Saint-Etienne  du  Mont. 
This  is  the  day,  you  know,  we  are  to  go  to  Monsieur 
Taillefer.  Victorine,  poor  little  thing,  is  trembling  like 
a leaf,”  said  Madame  Couture,  sitting  down  before  the 
stove,  and  putting  up  her  damp  feet,  which  began  to 
smoke. 

“ Pray  warm  yourself,  Victorine,”  said  Madame 
V auquer. 

“ It  is  all  very  right.  Mademoiselle,  to  pray  to  the 
good  God  to  soften  your  father’s  heart,”  said  Vautrin 
to  the  young  lady  ; “but  that ’s  not  enough.  You  need 
a friend  who  will  speak  his  mind  to  the  fierce  old  fel- 
low,— a savage,  they  say,  who  has  three  millions  of 
francs,  and  actually  won’t  give  you  a dot.  Every 
pretty  girl  needs  a dot  in  times  like  these.” 

“Poor  darling!”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  “ your 
monster  of  a father  will  bring  punishment  on  his  own 
head.” 

At  these  words  tears  started  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor 
girl,  and  Madame  Vauquer  stopped,  restrained  by  a 
sign  from  Madame  Couture. 

“ If  we  could  only  see  him,  — if  I might  speak  to 
him  and  give  him  the  last  letter  of  his  poor  wife,”  said 


64 


Pere  Goriot. 


the  paymaster’s  widow.  “ I have  never  dared  to  send 
it  to  him  by  post ; he  knows  my  writing.” 

“ ‘ O woman  ! innocent,  unhappy,  persecuted,’  as  the 
poet  says,”  cried  Vautrin,  “ see  what  you  have  come 
to!  In  a few  days  I shall  interfere  in  your  affairs, 
and  then  things  will  go  better.” 

“ Ah,  Monsieur ! ” said  Victorine,  casting  a look  at 
once  tearful  and  eager  upon  Vautrin,  who  seemed  quite 
unmoved  by  it ; “ if  you  know  any  way  of  communi- 
cating with  my  father,  tell  him  that  his  love  and  the 
honor  of  my  mother  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  the 
riches  of  the  world.  If  you  could  succeed  in  making 
him  less  harsh  to  me,  I would  pray  God  for  you.  Be 
sure  that  my  gratitude  — ” 

“ Long  have  I wandered  here  and  there,” 

sang  Vautrin,  in  a tone  of  irony. 

At  that  moment  Goriot,  Mademoiselle  Michonneau, 
and  Poiret  came  down,  attracted  probably  by  the  sa- 
vory smell  of  Sylvie’s  mutton.  Just  as  the  seven  sat 
down  to  table  and  exchanged  good  mornings,  half-past 
ten  struck,  and  the  step  of  the  student  was  heard  on 
the  gravel. 

“Well,  Monsieur  Eugene,”  said  Sylvie,  “to-day  you 
will  get  your  breakfast  with  the  others.” 

The  young  man  bowed  to  the  company,  and  took  his 
seat  by  Pere  Goriot. 

“ I have  just  had  a strange  adventure,”  he  said, 
helping  himself  liberally  to  the  mutton,  and  cutting  a 
slice  of  bread  which  Madame  Vauquer  measured  with 
her  eye. 

“ An  adventure ! ” repeated  Poiret. 


Pere  Gioriot. 


65 


“Well,  old  fellow,  why  should  that  astonish  you?” 
said  Vautrin.  “ Monsieur  looks  as  if  he  were  made 
for  adventures.” 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  glanced  timidly  at  the  young 
man. 

“ Come,  tell  us  ! ” said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ Last  night  I was  at  a ball  at  the  house  of  my  cou- 
sin, Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant.  She  has  a 
splendid  house,  — rooms  hung  with  silk  ; in  short,  she 
gave  us  a magnificent  fete,  where  I amused  myself  as 
much  as  a king  — ” 

“ Fisher,”  interpolated  Vautrin. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Eugene  angrily,  “ what  do  you 
mean  ? ” 

“I  fisher^  because  kingfishers  amuse  themselves 
a great  deal  better  than  kings.” 

“Yes,  indeed;  I’d  rather  be  a little  bird  that  has 
no  cares,  than  a king ; because  — because  — ” said 
Poiret,  man  of  echoes. 

“Well,  anyway,”  continued  the  student,  “I  danced 
with  one  of  the  loveliest  women  at  the  ball,  — a 
charming  countess,  the  most  delightful  creature  I have 
ever  seen.  She  wore  peach-blossoms  in  her  hair,  and 
flowers  at  her  waist,  — natural  flowers  of  delicious  fra- 
grance. Pshaw ! you  ought  to  have  seen  her ; it  is 
impossible  to  describe  a lovely  woman  animated  by 
dancing.  Well,  this  morning  I met  this  same  divine 
countess  about  nine  o’clock,  on  foot,  in  the  Rue  des 
Gres.  Oh!  my  heart  jumped!  I fancied  for  a 
moment  — ” 

“ That  she  was  coming  here,”  said  Vautrin,  looking 
the  young  man  through  and  through.  “She  was 


56 


Fere  Groriot. 


probably  going  to  look  up  Papa  Gobseck,  the  money 
lender.  Young  man,  if  you  ever  get  an  insight  into 
the  hearts  of  Parisian  women,  you  will  find  money 
more  potent  there  than  love.  Your  countess’s  name 
was  Anastasie  de  Restai^  and  she  lives  in  the  Rue 
du  Helder.” 

At  this  the  student  turned  and  stared  at  Vautrin. 
Pere  Goriot  raised  his  head  quickly  and  shot  at  the 
two  speakers  a glance  so  keen  and  anxious  that  he 
astonished  the  other  guests  who  noticed  him.  “ Chris- 
tophe  will  get  there  too  late ; she  will  have  gone,”  he 
murmured  sadly. 

‘‘I  guessed  right,  you  see,”  said  Vautrin,  leaning 
over  and  whispering  to  Madame  Vauquer. 

Goriot  went  on  eating  his  breakfast  without  know- 
ing what  he  was  doing;  he  sank  back  into  himself, 
and  never  looked  more  stupid  and  self-absorbed  than 
at  this  moment. 

Who  the  devil.  Monsieur  Vautrin,”  cried  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  “could  have  told  you  that  lady’s  name?” 

“Ha,  ha!”  laughed  Vautrin.  “Pere  Goriot  knew 
it,  — why  should  n’t  I ? ” 

“ Monsieur  Goriot ! ” cried  the  student. 

“What  did  you  say?”  asked  the  poor  old  man. 
“Was  she  very  beautiful  last  night!” 

“ Who?” 

“ Madame  de  Restaud.” 

“ Look  at  the  old  wretch ; how  his  eyes  sparkle  ! ” 
whispered  Madame  Vauquer  to  her  neighbor. 

“Yes,  she  was  marvellously  beautiful,”  replied 
Eugene,  at  whom  Pere  Goriot  was  now  looking 
eagerly.  “If  Madame  de  Beausdant  had  been  absent, 


Pere  Goriot. 


57 


my  divine  countess  would  have  been  queen  of  the  ball 
The  young  men  had  no  eyes  but  for  her.  I was  the 
twelfth  written  on  her  list ; she  danced  all  the  eve- 
ning. The  other  women  were  jealous  of  her.  If  any 
creature  was  happy  last  night,  it  was  she.  The  old 
saying  is  true,  — the  three  most  beautiful  things  in 
motion  are  a frigate  under  sail,  a horse  at  full  speed, 
and  a woman  dancing.’’ 

Last  night  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  at  the  ball  of  a 
duchess ; this  morning  down  in  the  mud  in  the  shop 
of  a money-lender,”  said  Vautrin.  ‘‘If  their  husbands 
cannot  pay  for  their  unbridled  extravagance,  they  will 
get  the  money  in  other  ways.  They  would  rip  open 
their  mother’s  breasts  to  get  the  means  of  outshining 
their  rivals  at  a ball.” 

Pere  Goriot’s  face,  which  at  the  praise  of  Madame  de 
Restaud  had  lighted  up  like  a landscape  when  the  sun 
falls  upon  it,  clouded  over  as  he  listened  to  these  words. 

“Well,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  “how  about  your 
adventure.  Monsieur  Eugene  ? Did  you  speak  to  her? 
Did  you  ask  her  if  she  was  coming  into  this  neighbor- 
hood to  study  law?” 

“She  did  not  see  me,”  said  Eugene  ; “but  to  meet 
such  a lady  in  the  Rue  des  Gres  at  nine  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  — a woman  who  could  not  have  got  home 
from  the  ball  for  some  hours  after  midnight,  — does 
seem  to  me  very  singular.  Paris  is  the  only  place  for 
such  strange  things.” 

“ Bah ! there  are  many  far  more  strange,”  said 
Vautrin. 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  had  scarcely  listened,  so  pre- 
occupied was  she  by  the  fresh  effort  she  was  about  to 


68  Pere  Goriot. 

make  to  see  her  father.  Madame  Couture  made  hei 
a sign  to  leave  the  room,  and  Pere  Groriot  left  also. 

“ Did  you  notice  him  ? ” said  Madame  V auquer  to 
Vautrin  and  the  rest.  I am  convinced  those  women 
are  his  ruin.” 

You  will  never  make  me  believe,”  cried  the  stu- 
dent, “that  the  beautiful  Comtesse  de  Restaud  has 
anything  to  do  with  Pere  Goriot  — ” 

“Who  wants  you  to  believe  it?”  said  Vautrin,  in- 
terrupting him.  “You  don’t  know  Paris  yet,  — you 
are  too  young.  You’ll  find  out  later  that  there  are 
men  absorbed  by  passions,  — a passion.”  At  these 
words  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  raised  her  head,  like 
a war-horse  that  hears  the  sound  of  a trumpet.  “Ah !” 
said  Vautrin,  checking  himself  to  send  her  a pierc- 
ing glance ; “ we ’ve  had  our  little  passions,  have 
we  ? ” (The  old  maid  lowered  her  eyes  like  a nun  who 
sees  statues.)  “ Yes,”  he  resumed,  “ such  men  pursue 
one  idea,  one  passion,  and  never  relinquish  it.  They 
thirst  for  one  water,  from  one  fountain,  — often  stag- 
nant. To  gain  it  they  will  sell  wife  and  children,  — 
they  will  sell  their  own  souls.  For  some  this  fountain 
is  play,  or  stocks,  collections  of  pictures,  — even  in- 
sects, music.  For  others  it  is  a woman  who  ministers 
to  some  taste;  to  these  you  may  offer  every  other 
woman  upon  earth,  — they  will  not  look  at  them. 
They  will  have  the  woman  who  satisfies  their  want, 
whatever  it  is.  Often  this  woman  does  not  love  them, 
— nay,  will  ill-treat  them,  and  despoil  them,  and  make 
them  pay  dearly  for  small  shreds  of  sath  "iction.  No 
matter,  — the  fools  will  not  let  go  ; they  ..  ill  pawn  their 
last  blanket  for  her  sake,  and  bring  her  their  last  sou 


Pere  Groriot, 


59 


Pere  Goriot  is  one  of  these  men.  Your  countess  gets 
all  she  can  out  of  him,  — he  is  safe  and  silent.  The 
poor  fellow  has  no  thought  except  for  her.  Watch 
him : outside  of  this  passion  he  is  little  more  than  a 
dumb  animal ; rouse  him  about  her,  and  his  eyes  spar- 
kle like  diamonds.  It  is  easy  enough  to  guess  his 
secret.  He  carried  his  bit  of  plate  this  morning  to  be 
melted ; I saw  him  afterwards  going  into  Gobseck’s,  in 
the  Rue  des  Gres.  Now,  mark!  as  soon  as  he  got 
home  he  sent  that  simpleton  Christophe  to  Madame 
de  Restaud  with  a letter  containing  a cancelled  note. 
Christophe  showed  us  the  address.  It  is  clear  that 
the  matter  was  pressing,  for  the  countess  went  herself 
to  the  old  money-lender.  Pere  Goriot  has  been  rais- 
ing money  for  her.  It  does  n’t  take  much  cleverness 
to  put  two  and  two  together  here.  And  this  shows 
you,  my  young  student,  that  last  night,  when  your 
countess  was  laughing  and  dancing  and  playing  her 
tricks,  and  fluttering  her  peach-blossoms  and  shaking 
out  her  gown,  her  heart  was  down  in  the  soles  of  her 
little  satin  slippers,  thinking  of  some  note  of  hers  that 
was  going  to  protest  — or,  of  her  lover’s.” 

‘‘You  make  me  savage  to  know  the  truth,”  cried 
Eugene;  ‘‘I  will  go  to-morrow  and  call  on  Madame 
de  Restaud.” 

“Yes,  to-morrow,”  said  Poiret ; “better  call  to- 
morrow on  Madame  de  Restaud.” 

“But,  Paris!”  said  Eugene,  in  a tone  of  disgust, 
“ what  a sink  of  iniquity  your  Paris  must  be.” 

“ Yes,”  ^.rgplied  Vautrin,  “and  a queer  sink,  too. 
Those  who  ^,y^t  muddy  in  their  carriages  are  virtuous; 
those  who  get  muddy  afoot  are  knaves.  Hook  a trifle 


80 


Pere  Croriot. 


that  is  not  your  own,  and  they  show  you  up  on  the 
Place  du  Palais  de  Justice  as  a public  curiosity ; steal 
a million,  and  you  are  received  in  good  society  and 
called  ‘ a clever  fellow.’  And  you  pay  thirty  millions 
annually  to  the  law  courts  and  the  police  to  keep  up 
that  sort  of  morality  ! Pah ! ” 

“ Do  you  mean  to  say,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  “ that 
Pere  Goriot  has  melted  up  his  silver-gilt  porringer?” 

a Were  there  two  turtle-doves  on  the  cover  ?”  asked 
Eugene. 

“ Yes,  there  were.” 

He  must  have  cared  for  it.  He  wept  when  he 
broke  it  up.  I happened  to  see  him  — by  chance,” 
said  Eugene. 

“ He  did  care  for  it,  as  for  his  life,”  answered  Madame 
Vauquer. 

“ Now  see  the  force  of  passion ! ” said  Vautrin.  “ That 
woman  can  wring  his  very  soul.” 

Eugene  went  up  to  his  own  chamber.  Vautrin  went 
out.  A few  minutes  later  Madame  Couture  and  Victo- 
rine  got  into  a hackney  coach  which  Sylvie  had  called. 
Poiret  gave  his  arm  to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  and 
they  walked  off  together  to  wander  in  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes  during  the  fine  part  of  the  day. 

Don’t  they  look  almost  married  ? ” said  Sylvie. 
“ They  are  so  dried  up  that  if  they  knock  together, 
they’ll  make  sparks  like  flint  and  steel.” 

‘^Look  out,  then,  for  Mademoiselle  Michonneau’s 
shawl,  — it  will  catch  like  tinder,”  observed  Madame 
Vauquer. 


I*ere  Goriot. 


61 


V. 

At  four  o’clock,  when  Pere  Goriot  returned,  he  saw 
by  the  dim  light  of  two  smoky  lamps  Victorine  Taille- 
fer  sitting  silent  with  red  eyes,  while  Madame  Couture 
was  volubly  relating  the  result  of  the  visit  made  to  the 
father.  Tired  of  refusing  to  see  his  daughter  and  her 
old  friend,  Taillefer  had  granted  them  an  interview. 

“My  dear  lady,”  Madame  Couture  was  saying  to 
Madame  Vauquer,  “would  you  believe  me,  he  did  not 
so  much  as  ask  Victorine  to  sit  down  ; she  stood  all  the 
time  that  we  were  there.  He  told  me,  without  any 
anger,  but  sternly,  that  we  might  for  the  future  spare 
ourselves  the  trouble  of  coming;  that  mademoiselle 
(he  did  not  say  daughter)  only  injured  herself  by  per- 
sisting in  coming  after  him  — once  a year ! the  mon- 
ster ! He  said  that  as  Victorine’s  mother  had  brought 
him  no  fortune,  her  daughter  was  not  entitled  to  ex- 
pect any ; in  short,  he  said  all  kinds  of  cruel  things 
which  made  the  poor  dear  cry.  She  flung  herself  at 
her  father’s  feet,  and  found  courage  to  tell  him  that  she 
only  pressed  her  case  for  her  mother’s  sake ; that  she 
would  obey  him  without  a murmur  if  he  would  only 
read  the  last  words  of  his  wife.  She  offered  him  the 
letter,  saying  the  most  touching  things  you  ever  heard. 
I don’t  know  where  she  got  them  ; God  must  have  in- 
spired them,  for  the  poor  child  was  so  carried  away  that 


62 


Pere  Groriot. 


I,  as  I listened  to  her,  wept  like  a fool.  What  do  yon 
suppose  that  brutal  man  did  while  she  was  speaking  ? 
He  pared  his  nails ! He  took  the  letter  which  his  poor 
wife  had  written  with  so  many  tears,  and  flung  it  into 
the  fire,  saying,  ‘That’s  enough.’  He  tried  to  make  his 
daughter  get  up  from  her  knees  : she  wanted  to  kiss  his 
hand,  but  he  would  not  let  her.  Wasn’t  it  atrocious? 
His  great  booby  of  a son  came  in  while  we  were  there, 
but  he  would  not  take  any  notice  of  his  sister.” 

“ Can  such  monsters  be  ? ” said  Pere  Goriot. 

“ And  then,”  continued  Madame  Couture,  paying  no 
attention  to  this  interruption,  “ father  and  son  walked 
off  together,  begging  me  to  excuse  them,  and  saying 
they  had  pressing  business.  So  ended  our  visit.  Well ! 
at  any  rate  he  has  seen  his  daughter.  I don’t  know  how 
he  can  refuse  to  acknowledge  her,  for  they  are  as  like 
as  two  raindrops.” 

All  the  guests  now  came  in,  one  after  another,  wish- 
ing each  other  good  day,  and  interchanging  a style  of 
jest  by  which  certain  classes  of  the  Parisian  world  keep 
up  a spirit  of  drollery  of  which  sheer  nonsense  is  the 
principal  ingredient,  the  fun  being  chiefly  confined  to 
gesture  and  pronunciation.  This  sort  of  argot  varies 
continually.  The  best  joke  never  lasts  over  a month. 
An  event  in  politics,  a trial  in  the  criminal  courts,  a 
street  ballad,  or  an  actor’s  jest,  sets  the  fun  afloat  and 
keeps  it  going ; the  amusement  consisting,  above  all, 
in  treating  ideas  and  words  like  shuttlecocks,  and  ban- 
dying them  to  and  fro  with  the  utmost  rapidity. 

Just  at  this  time  the  invention  of  the  diorama,  an  ex- 
hibition which  carried  optical  illusion  beyond  that  of 
the  panorama,  had  set  the  artists  in  their  studios  to 


Ph^e  Qoriot, 


63 


ending  all  their  words  in  “rama.”  The  fashion  had 
been  introduced  into  the  Maison  Vauquer  by  a young 
painter,  one  of  the  dinner  guests. 

‘‘Well,  Monsieur-re  Poiret,”  said  the  employe  at 
the  Museum,  “ how  goes  your  healthorama  ? ” Then 
not  waiting  for  a reply,  Ladies,”  he  said  to  Madame 
Couture  and  Victorine,  I regret  to  see  that  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong  with  you  to-day,” 

“Are  we  going  to  Jfmare  ” cried  Horace  Bianchon, 
a medical  student  and  a friend  of  Rastignac;  “my 
little  stomach  has  gone  down  usque  ad  talones^ 

“ It  is  a regular  frostinorama^''  said  V autrin.  “ Draw 
back  a little,  Pere  Goriot;  your  foot  takes  up  the 
whole  front  of  the  stove.” 

“Illustrious  Vautrin,”  cried  Bianchon,  “why  do  you 
say  frostinorama?  That’s  wrong;  you  should  say 
frostorama.^'^ 

“ No ! ” cried  the  employe  at  the  Museum,  “ it  frost- 
inorama, I have  frost  in  my  toes.” 

“Ha!  Ha!” 

“ Here  comes  his  excellency  the  Marquis  de  Ras- 
tignac, Doctor  of  Laws,”  cried  Bianchon,  catching 
Eugene  round  the  neck  and  hugging  him  till  he 
was  nearly  strangled. 

“ Oh  ! oh ! Help,  all  of  you  ! Help  ! Oh ! ” 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  here  entered  stealthily, 
bowed  silently  to  the  guests,  and  took  her  place  among 
the  ladies. 

“ That  old  bat  of  a woman  makes  me  shiver,” 
whispered  Bianchon  to  Vautrin.  “I  am  studying 
phrenology,  and  I tell  you  she  has  the  bumps  of 
Judas.” 


64 


Pere  Goriot. 


“ Do  you  know  anything  about  her?”  asked  Vautrin. 

“Nothing  but  what  I see.  I give  you  my  word 
of  honor  that  her  lanky  whiteness  puts  me  in  mind 
of  those  long  worms  that  eat  their  way  through 
beams.” 

“ I ’ll  tell  you  what  she  is,  young  man  ” said  the 
man  of  forty,  pulling  his  whiskers : — 

‘‘  ‘ Rose,  she  has  lived  the  life  of  a rose,  — 

The  space  of  a summer’s  day  ’ 

“ Here  comes  a famous  souporama^'*  cried  Poiret,  as 
Christophe  entered  respectfully  bearing  the  tureen. 

“Pardon  me.  Monsieur,”  said  Madame  Vauquer  ; 
“it  is  soupe  aux  chouxP 

All  the  young  men  burst  out  laughing, 

“ Beaten,  Poiret ! ” 

“ Poir-r-r-rette  is  done  for ! ” 

“Score  two  for^Mamrna  Vauquer,”  cried  Vautrin. 

“ Did  any  one  notice  the  fog  this  morning?”  asked 
the  employ^. 

“ It  was  a fog  out  of  all  reason,”  cried  Bianchon ; 
“ a fog  without  a parallel ; a dismal,  melancholy,  green, 
stupid  kind  of  a fog,  — a fog  Goriot.” 

“ Goriorama^*  cried  the  painter ; “ because  it  is  no 
go  when  you  want  to  see  through  it.” 

“ Ha  ! my  lord  Goriot ; they  are  talking  of  you.” 

Sitting  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  near  the  door 
opening  on  the  pantry,  Pere  Goriot  looked  up  at  this, 
smelling,  as  he  did  so,  at  the  piece  of  bread  placed 
under  his  napkin,  — according  to  an  old  habit  in  sam- 
pling flour,  which  mechanically  reappeared  when  he 
forgot  himself  at  table. 


Pere  GrorioU 


65 


« Well!  ” cried  Madame  Vauquer  sharply,  in  a voice 
that  rose  above  the  general  clatter ; ‘‘  don’t  you  find 
the  bread  good  enough  for  you?” 

It  is  very  good,  Madame,”  he  replied  ; it  is  made 
of  Etampes  flour,  first  quality.” 

« How  do  you  know  that?”  asked  Eugene. 

‘‘  By  it’s  taste  ; by  it’s  color.” 

“ By  the  taste  of  the  nose,  you  mean  ; for  you  have 
done  nothing  but  smell  it,”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

You  are  getting  so  economical  that  by  and  by  you 
will  be  trying  to  get  your  meals  by  sniffing  the  smells 
of  the  kitchen.” 

Take  out  a patent  for  the  process,”  cried  the  em- 
ploye ; ‘‘  you  will  make  your  fortune.” 

“ Let  him  alone;  he  does  it  to  make  us  believe  he  real- 
ly has  been  engaged  in  selling  flour,”  said  the  painter. 

‘^Is  your  nose  a corn-chandler?”  asked  the  young 
man  from  the  Museum. 

‘‘  Corn-what?”  said  Bianchon. 

“ Corn-market.” 

‘‘  Corn-stalk.” 

Corn-starch.” 

“ Corn-et.” 

‘‘  Corn-er.” 

‘‘  Corn-elian.” 

‘‘  Corn-ucopia.” 

Corn-orama.” 

These  eight  answers  rattled  from  all  parts  of  the 
table  like  a volley  of  musketry,  and  made  everybody 
laugh,  — all  the  more  when  poor  Pere  Goriot  looked 
round  with  an  air  of  utter  bewilderment,  like  a man 
trying  to  make  out  some  meatiing  in  a foreign  tongueo 

5 


66 


Pere  Goriot, 


Cor  ? ” he  said  to  Vautrin,  who  sat  next  to  him. 

“ Corn,  — corns  on  your  toes,  old  gentleman,”  said 
Vautrin,  patting  him  on  the  head  in  such  a way  as  to 
drive  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes. 

The  poor  old  man,  stupefied  by  this  brusque  attack, 
remained  motionless  for  a moment,  during  which 
Christoph e carried  away  his  soup ; so  that  when  Pere 
Goriot,  having  taken  off  his  hat,  picked  up  his  spoon 
to  begin  his  dinner,  it  tapped  upon  the  table  instead 
of  a plate.  All  present  burst  out  laughing. 

“Monsieur,”  said  the  old  man,  “that  was  a poor 
joke;  and  if  you  give  me  any  more  such  — ” 

“Well,  what  then,  papa?”  said  Vautrin,  interrupt- 
ing him. 

“Well,  you  shall  pay  dearly  for  it  some  day  — ” 

“Ah  ! in  the  infernal  regions,  — that ’s  it,”  said  the 
painter ; “ in  the  little  black  hole  where  they  put 
naughty  children.” 

“Well,  Mademoiselle!”  said  Vautrin,  addressing 
Victorine;  “you  seem  to  eat  nothing.  Was  your 
papa  refractory  to-day?” 

“ He  was  horrible  ! ” said  Madame  Couture. 

“Ah!”  cried  Vautrin;  “we  must  bring  him  to 
reason.” 

Rastignac,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Bianchon,  said 
to  him  : — 

“Mademoiselle  can’t  bring  an  action  for  alimony, 
for  she  eats  nothing.  Eh ! eh  ! just  see  how  Pere 
Goriot  is  looking  at  her.” 

The  old  man  had  stopped  eating  to  gaze  at  the 
young  girl,  whose  face  was  convulsed  with  grief,  — 
the  grief  of  a child  repulsed  by  the  father  she  loves. 


Pere  Goriot. 


67 


“ My  dear  fellow,”  said  Rastignac  in  a whisper,  “ we 
are  all  astray  about  Pere  Goriot.  He  is  neither  weak 
nor  imbecile.  Just  turn  a phrenological  eye  on  him, 
and  tell  me  how  he  strikes  you.  I saw  him  last  night 
twist  up  a silver  dish  as  if  it  had  been  wax  j and  at 
this  very  moment  his  face  shows  that  his  mind  is  full 
of  strange  emotions.  His  life  seems  to  me  so  myste- 
rious that  it  might  be  worth  some  pains  to  study  him. 
Oh,  very  well,  Bianchon ; you  may  laugh,  but  I m not 
joking.” 

“ I grant  you  the  man  has  a medical  interest ; he  is 
a case,”  said  Bianchon.  “ If  he  ’ll  let  me,  I ’ll  dissect 
him.” 

“ No,  — just  feel  his  head.” 

“I  don’t  know  about  that;  his  stupidity  might  be 
catching.” 


68 


Pere  Groriot. 


VI. 

The  next  day  Rastignac,  elegantly  dressed,  started 
about  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  to  call  upon  Ma- 
dame de  Restaud,  indulging  as  he  went  along  in  those 
adventurous  hopes  which  fill  the  lives  of  young  men 
with  varying  emotions.  In  moods  like  these  they  take 
no  account  of  obstacles  or  dangers ; success  is  their  only 
vista ; life  is  made  poetic  by  the  play  of  imagination, 
and  they  are  saddened  or  unhappy  by  the  overthrow 
of  projects  that  exist  only  in  their  unbridled  fancy.  If 
they  were  not  handicapped  by  their  ignorance  and 
their  timidity  this  social  world  of  ours  would  be  an 
impossibility.  Eugene  went  along  the  muddy  streets, 
taking  every  precaution  to  keep  his  boots  clean  ; and 
as  he  walked  he  turned  over  in  his  mind  what  he 
should  say  to  Madame  de  Restaud,  — providing  him- 
self with  the  repartees  and  witty  sayings  of  an  imagi- 
nary conversation,  rehearsing  phrases  a la  Talleyrand, 
and  inventing  tender  scenes  favorable  to  his  project  of 
pushing  his  future  in  society.  He  did  get  his  boots 
muddy,  however,  and  had  to  have  them  blacked  and 
his  trousers  brushed  in  the  Palais-Royal.  ^^If  I were 
rich,”  he  said  to  himself  as  he  changed  a five-franc 
piece  which  he  had  put  into  his  pocket  (^^in  case  of 
accident”),  ^^I  should  have  driven  in  a carriage  to  make 


Pere  Groriot,  69 

my  call,  and  could  have  thought  things  over  at  my 
ease.” 

At  last  he  reached  the  Rue  du  Helder,  and  asked  for 
Madame  de  Restaud.  With  the  silent  wrath  of  a man 
certain  of  future  triumph,  he  noticed  the  impertinent 
looks  of  the  lacqueys,  who  saw  him  crossing  the  court- 
yard on  foot  heralded  by  no  sound  of  carriage  wheels 
at  the  gate.  Those  looks  were  the  more  galling  be- 
cause already  he  had  been  smitten  by  a sense  of  social 
inferiority  on  seeing,  as  he  entered  the  courtyard,  a 
fine  horse  in  glittering  harness  attached  to  one  of  those 
exquisite  cabriolets,  which  evince  the  luxury  of  extra- 
vagant existence  and  the  habit  of  taking  part  in  the 
pleasures  of  Parisian  life.  Eugene  grew  out  of  temper 
with  himself.  His  brains,  which  he  had  stored  with 
clever  sayings,  refused  to  work ; he  became  stupid. 
While  waiting  to  know  if  the  countess  would  receive 
him,  he  stood  by  a window  in  the  antechamber,  leaning 
his  arm  on  the  knob  of  its  fastening  and  looking  down 
mechanically  into  the  courtyard.  He  thought  he  was 
kept  waiting  a long  time,  and  would  have  gone  away 
in  displeasure  had  he  not  been  gifted  with  that  southern 
tenacity  which  works  wonders  if  kept  to  a straight 
line. 

Monsieur,”  said  the  footman,  ‘‘Madame  is  in  her 
boudoir,  and  is  very  much  occupied ; she  did  not  an- 
swer me.  But  if  Monsieur  will  go  into  the  salon^  he 
will  find  some  one  there  who  is  also  waiting.” 

Wondering  within  himself  at  the  power  possessed 
by  servants  to  judge  and  to  betray  their  masters  by  a 
word,  Rastignac  deliberately  opened  the  door  through 
which  the  man  had  just  passed,  wishing,  perhaps,  tc 


70 


Pere  Goriot. 


prove  to  the  lacqueys  in  attendance  that  he  knew  the 
ways  of  the  house.  But  he  brought  up  like  a fool  in  a 
press-room,  full  of  lamps  and  wardrobes,  and  an  appa- 
ratus for  warming  bath-towels,  which  led  to  a dark 
passage  and  some  back  stairs.  Smothered  sounds  of 
laughter  in  the  antechamber  behind  him  put  the  finish- 
ing stroke  to  his  confusion. 

“ Monsieur,  the  salon  is  this  way,”  said  the  footman, 
with  that  false  respect  w^hich  is  the  last  touch  of 
impertinence. 

Eugene  stepped  back  with  such  precipitation  that 
he  knocked  against  a bath-tub,  but  happily  held  fast  to 
his  hat  so  that  it  did  not  fall  into  the  water.  At  this 
moment  a door  opened  at  the  end  of  the  dark  passage 
(which  was  lighted  by  a lamp),  and  Rastignac  heard 
Madame  de  Restaud’s  voice,  Pere  Goriot’s  voice,  and 
the  sound  of  kisses.  He  went  back  into  the  ante- 
chamber, crossed  it,  followed  the  servant,  and  entered 
the  first  salon^  where  he  took  his  station  at  a window 
which  he  saw  at  once  must  command  the  courtyard. 
He  wanted  to  see  if  Pere  Goriot  could  really  be  Pere 
Goriot.  His  heart  beat  violently  as  he  remembered 
the  horrible  insinuations  of  Vautrin.  The  footman 
stood  waiting  to  usher  him  through  the  door  of  an 
inner  drawing-room,  when  out  of  it  came  an  elegant 
young  man,  who  said  to  the  servant,  crossly,  — 

‘‘  I am  going,  Maurice ; you  can  tell  Madame  la 
comtesse  that  I waited  for  her  more  than  half  an 
hour.” 

This  gay  young  man  of  fashion,  who  evidently  had 
the  right  of  entrance,  walked  on,  humming  an  Italian 
melody,  until  he  came  near  the  window  at  which 


Pere  Goriot. 


71 


Eugene  was  standing.  He  tried  to  see  the  face  of  the 
student,  and  he  also  wished  to  get  a glimpse  into  the 
courtyard. 

JMonsieur  le  comte  had  better  stay  a moment 
longer;  Madame  is  now  at  liberty,”  said  Maurice,  go- 
ing back  into  the  antechamber. 

At  this  moment  Pere  Goriot  came  out  of  the  house 
near  the  porte-cochere^  through  a door  that  opened  from 
the  back  stair-case.  The  old  man  raised  his  umbrella, 
and  was  about  to  open  it  without  noticing  that  the 
gates  had  been  thrown  back  to  admit  a young  man 
wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  who  was 
driving  himself  in  a tilbury.  Pere  Goriot  had  only 
time  to  step  backward  ; a moment  more  and  he  would 
have  been  run  over.  The  opening  of  the  umbrella  had 
frightened  the  horse,  which  shied,  and  then  dashed  for- 
ward to  the  steps  of  the  portico.  The  young  man 
looked  round  angrily,  saw  Pere  Goriot,  and  bowed  to 
him  with  the  constrained  civility  often  bestowed  upon 
a money-lender  whom  it  is  advisable  to  propitiate,  or 
vouchsafed  to  some  smirched  man  reluctantly,  and  with 
an  after  sense  of  shame.  Pere  Goriot  returned  it  with 
a little  friendly  nod,  full  of  kindness.  These  things 
passed  like  a flash.  Too  absorbed  to  notice  that  he 
was  not  alone,  Eugene  suddenly  heard  the  voice  of 
Madame  de  Restaud. 

“ Maxime,  are  you  going?”  she  cried  in  a tone  of 
reproach,  not  unmingled  with  vexation. 

The  countess  had  not  noticed  the  arrival  of  the  til- 
bury. Rastignac  turned  and  saw  her,  dressed  coquet- 
tishly  in  a breakfast  gown  of  white  cashmere  with  pink 
ribbons,  her  hair  put  up  with  the  simplicity  which  is 


72 


Pere  Goriot, 


the  morning  fashion  of  Parisian  women.  A fragrance 
diffused  about  her  seemed  to  suggest  that  she  had  just 
taken  her  bath  ; her  eyes  were  limpid,  and  her  beauty 
was  softened  by  an  air  of  indolence  and  languor.  Young 
men  have  the  eyes  to  see  these  things ; their  minds 
open  to  all  the  rays  of  a woman’s  charm  as  plants  as- 
similate from  the  air  they  breathe  the  substances  which 
give  them  life.  Eugene  felt  the  soft  freshness  of  her 
hands  without  touching  them ; he  saw  through  the 
folds  of  her  cashmere  the  lines  of  her  beautiful  figure. 
She  needed  no  steels  or  lacings,  — a belt  alone  held  in 
her  flexible  and  rounded  waist';  her  feet  were  pretty 
even  in  their  slippers. 

When  Maxime  raised  her  beautiful  hand  to  his  lips 
Eugene  for  the  first  time  perceived  Maxime,  and 
Madame  de  Restaud  perceived  Eugene. 

^ “ Ah ! is  that  you.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  ? I am 
very  glad  to  see  you,”  she  said  in  a tone  which  a man 
of  the  world  would  have  accepted  as  a dismissal. 

Maxime  looked  first  at  Eugene  and  then  at  the 
countess  with  an  expression  which  might  well  have  ex- 
pelled the  intruder.  What  impertinence  ! ” it  seemed 
to  say  ; my  dear,  I hope  you  are  going  to  show  that 
[)uppy  the  door.” 

Rastignac  took  a violent  aversion  to  this  man.  In 
the  first  place,  the  blond  and  well-trirnmed  head  o^ 
Maxime  made  him  ashamed  of  his  own  hair ; then 
Maxime’s  boots  were  elegant  and  spotless,  while  on 
his,  in  spite  of  all  his  care,  there  were  spots  of  mud. 
Maxime  wore  a frock-coat,  which  fitted  him  round  the 
waist  like  the  corset  of  a pretty  woman  ; Eugene,  on 
the  contrary,  was  wearing  a black  coat  in  the  middle 


Fere  Groriot, 


73 


of  the  afternoon.  The  clever  son  of  the  Charente  felt 
the  advantages  dress  gave  to  this  supercilious  dandy 
with  his  tall  slender  figure,  light  eyes,  and  pale  skin, — 
a man,  he  thought  to  himself,  capable  of  bringing  ruin 
on  the  fatherless. 

Meantime  Madame  de  Restaud,  without  waiting  for 
any  reply,  flitted  back  into  the  great  salon,  the  lappets 
of  her  dress  floating  backward  as  she  went,  in  a way 
that  ^ave  her  the  appearance  of  a butterfly  on  the 
wing.  Maxime  followed  her  5 Eugene,  in  a savage 
mood,  followed  Maxime ; and  all  three  stood  before 
the  fireplace  in  the  great  salon.  The  student  knew 
well  enough  that  he  was  in  the  way  of  that  odious 
Maxime ; but  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  Madame 
de  Restaud,  he  was  determined  to  annoy  him.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  seeing  the  young  man  at  Madame 
de  Beauseant’s  ball,  and  guessed  what  might  be  his  rela- 
tions to  Madame  de  Restaud  ; but  with  that  youthful 
audacity  which  makes  a man  commit  great  follies  or 
secures  him  great  successes,  he  said  to  himself,  That 
man  is  my  rival.  I will  put  him  out  of  my  way.” 
Imprudent  youth ! He  did  not  know  that  Count 
Maxime  de  Trailles  was  a dead  shot,  always  ready  to 
take  up  an  insult  and  kill  his  man.  Eugene  was  a good 
sportsman,  but  he  could  not  hit  the  mark  nineteen 
times  out  of  twenty  in  a shooting-gallery.  The  young 
count  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire, 
picked  up  the  tongs,  and  tossed  the  wood  about  in  so 
violent  and  savage  a manner  that  the  fair  face  of  An- 
astasie  clouded  over  with  distress.  She  turned  to 
Eugene  and  gave  him  one  of  those  chill  interrogative 
looks  which  plainly  say,  ‘‘  Why  don’t  you  go  away  ? 


74 


Pere  Groriot, 


to  which  well-bred  people  at  once  reply  by  what  we 
may  call  the  phrases  of  leave-taking. 

Eugene,  however,  put  on  an  agreeable  manner,  and 
said,  ‘‘  Madame,  I was  in  haste  to  see  you,  because  — ” 
He  stopped  short,  for  a door  opened,  and  the  gentle- 
man who  had  driven  into  the  courtyard  entered  the 
room.  He  was  without  a hat,  and  did  not  bow  to  the 
countess,  but  looked  attentively  at  Rastignac,  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  Maxime  saying,  “ Good  morning,^”  with 
an  air  of  intimacy  which  greatly  surprised  Eugene. 

‘‘Monsieur  de  Restaud,  ” said  the  countess  to  the 
student,  motioning  towards  her  husband.  “ Monsieur,” 
she  said,  presenting  Eugene  to  the  Comte  de  Restaud, 
“ is  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  a relative  of  Madame  de 
Beauseant,  through  the  Marcillacs.  I had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  him  at  her  ballT’  ^ 

“ A relatAve  of  Madame  de  Beauseant^  through  the 
Mareillaes^’^  — these  words,  uttered  by  the  countess 
with  a certain  emphasis  (for  a lady  likes  to  make  known 
that  she  receives  only  those  who  are  people  of  dis- 
tinction), had  an  almost  magical  effect.  The  count 
lost  his  coldly  ceremonious  air,  and  bowed  to  the 
student. 

“ Delighted,  Monsieur,  to  be  able  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance,” he  said  courteously. 

Even  Count  Maxime  de  Trailles,  casting  an  uneasy 
look  at  de  Rastignac,  abandoned  his  impertinent  man- 
ner. This  touch  of  a fairy  wand,  the  magic  of  an  aris- 
tocratic name,  let  a flood  of  light  into  the  brain  of  the 
young  southerner  and  gave  him  back  his  premeditated 
cleverness.  He  suddenly  caught  a glimpse  into  the 
great  world  of  Paris,  hitherto  only  cloud-land  for  him, 


Pere  Groriot.  75 

and  the  Maison  Vauquer  and  Pere  Goriot  vanished 
from  his  thoughts. 

‘‘I  thought  the  Marcillacs  were  extinct?”  said  Mon- 
sieur de  Restaud  to  Eugene. 

‘‘  You  are  right,  Monsieur,”  he  replied ; ‘‘  my  great' 
uncle,  the  Chevalier  de  Rastignac,  married  the  heiress 
of  the  house  of  Marcillac.  They  had  only  one  daughter, 
who  married  the  Marechal  de  Clarimbault,  Madame  de 
Beauseant’s  grandfather  on  the  mother’s  side.  We  are 
the  younger  branch  ; all  tlie  poorer  for  the  fact  that  my 
great  uncle,  the  Vice- Admiral,  lost  his  fortune  in  the 
service  of  the  King.  The  Revolutionary  government 
would  not  admit  our  claims  when  it  wound  up  the 
affairs  of  the  India  Company.” 

Did  not  Monsieur,  your  great-uncle,  command  the 
‘ Vengeur  ’ previous  to  1789  ? ” 

Precisely.” 

Then  he  must  have  known  my  grandfather,  at  that 
time  commanding  the  ‘Warwick.’  ” 

Here  Maxime  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  with  a 
glance  at  Madame  de  Restaud,  which  meant,  “ If  they 
begin  to  talk  of  naval  affairs  we  shall  not  get  a word 
with  each  other.” 

Anastasie  understood  the  look,  and  with  the  ease  of 
a practised  woman  she  smiled  and  said,  “ Come  this 
way,  Maxime  ; I will  show  you  what  I want  you  to  do 
for  me.  Gentlemen,  we  will  leave  you  to  sail  in  com- 
pany with  the  ‘Warwick’  and  the  ‘Vengeur.’” 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  making  a treacherous  little 
sign  to  Maxime,  and  the  two  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
As  this  morganatic  couple  (morganatic  is  a pretty  and 
expressive  German  word,  which  as  yet  has  no  equiva^ 


76 


Pere  Goriot, 


lent  in  the  French  language)  were  leaving  the  room, 
the  count  stopped  shorC  in  his  conversation  with 
Eugene. 

“ Anastasie  ” he  said"^  sharply,  ‘‘  don’t  go,  my  dear  ; 
you  know  very  well  — ” 

I shall  be  back  in  S moment,”  she  said,  interrupt- 
ing what  he  was  about  to  say.  It  will  only  take  me 
a second  to  tell  Maxime  what  I want  him  to  do.” 

And  she  did  come  back.  Like  all  women  who  study 
the  character  of  their  husbands  that  they  may  be  able 
themselves  to  live  as  they  please,  she  knew  just  how 
far  she  could  go  without  straining  his  forbearance,  and 
was  careful  not  to  offend  him  in  the  lesser  things  of 
daily  life.  She  was  now  aware  from  the  tone  of  his 
voice  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  prolong  her  absence. 
These  contretemps  were  due  to  Eugene.  The  countess 
expressed  this  by  a glance  and  a gesture  of  vexation  di- 
rected to  Maxime,  who  said  pointedly  to  the  count,  his 
wife,  and  de  Rastignac,  I see  you  are  all  engaged. 
I do  not  wish  to  be  in  your  way.  Adieu,”  and  he  left 
the  salon. 

“ Don’t  go,  Maxime,”  cried  the  count. 

“ Come  to  dinner,”  said  the  countess,  leaving  Eugene 
and  the  count  together  for  the  second  time,  and  fol- 
lowing Maxime  into  the  outer  salon^  where  they  re- 
mained long  enough,  as  they  thought,  for  Monsieur  de 
Restaud  to  get  rid  of  his  visitor. 

Eugene  heard  them  laughing  together,  talking  and 
pausing  at  intervals ; but  the  perverse  youth  continued 
his  conversation  with  Monsieur  de  Restaud,  flattering 
him  and  drawing  him  into  discussions  solely  that  he 
might  see  the  countess  again  and  find  out  the  secret 


Pere  G-orioU 


77 


of  her  relations  to  Pere  Goriot.  That  this  womanj 
evidently  in  love  with  Maxime,  yet  all-powerful  with 
her  husband,  should  be  secretly  connected  in  any  way 
vvith  the  old  paste-maker,  seemed  to  him  a singular 
mystery.  He  was  resolved  to  penetrate  it.  It  might 
give  him,  he  thought,  some  power  over  a woman  so 
eminently  Parisian,  that  might  serve  the  ends  of  his 
ambition. 

“ Anastasie,”  said  the  count,  again  calling  her. 

‘‘Well,  Maxime,”  she  said  to  the  young  man,  “we 
must  put  up  with  it.  This  evening  — ’’ 

“I  do  hope,  Nasie,”  he  whispered,  “that  you  will 
give  orders  never  to  admit  that  young  fool,  whose 
eyes  sparkle  like  live  coals  when  he  looks  ^t  you.  He 
will  make  love  to  you  and  compromise  you,  and  I 
shall  have  to  kill  him.” 

“ Don’t  be  absurd,  Maxime,”  she  said  ; “ these  little 
students  are,  on  the  contrary,  very  useful  — as  light- 
ning-rods. Restaud  shall  be  the  man  to  deal  with 
him.” 

Maxime  laughed,  and  left  the.  countess  standing  at 
the  window  to  see  him  get  into  his  cabriolet  and  flour- 
ish his  whip  over  the  champing  steed.  She  did  not 
come  back  till  the  outer  gates  were  closed. 

“Just  think,  my  dear,”  said  the  count,  as  she  en- 
tered ; “ the  country-seat  of  Monsieur’s  family  is  not 
far  from  Vertueil  on  the  Charente.  His  great-uncle 
and  my  grandfather  used  to  know  each  other.” 

“ Charmed  to  be  so  nearly  connected,”  said  the 
countess,  with 


78 


Pare  Goriot. 


“ In  what  way  ? ” she  said  quickly. 

Why,”  said  the  student,  I have  just  seen  leaving 
your  house  some  one  whose  room  is  next  to  mine  in 
our  pension^  — Pere  Goriot.” 

At  the  jovial  word  ^^Pere,”  so  disrespectfully  ap- 
plied, the  count,  who  was  mending  the  fire,  flung 
down  the  tongs  as  if  they  burned  his  fingers,  and 
started  from  his  chair. 

Monsieur,  you  might  at  least  say  Monsieur 
Goriot,”  he  cried. 

The  countess  turned  pale  when  she  saw  her  hus- 
band’s displeasure;  then  she  blushed,  and  was  evi- 
dently embarrassed.  She  replied  in  a voice  which  she 
strove  to  render  natural,  and  with  an  air  of  assumed 
ease  : It  is  impossible  to  know  any  one  whom  we 
love  more.”  Here  she  stopped ; and  looking  at  her 
pi^no  as  if  struck  by  a sudden  thought,  she  said : — 

“ Do  you  like  music.  Monsieur  ? ” 

Very  much,”  said  Eugene,  flushing,  and  stupefied 
by  a confused  sense  that  he  must  have  committed 
some  enormous  blunder. 

Do  you  sing  ? ” she  said,  going  to  the  piano  and 
running  a brilliant  scale,  from  C in  the  bass  to  F in 
the  treble,  — r-r-r-rah! 

^^No,  Madame.” 

Monsieur  de  Restaud  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room. 

That ’s  a pity ; you  are  cut  off  from  one  great 
means  of  social  success.  Ca-ro^  ca-a-ro,  ca-a-o^ro^  non 


Pere 


effect  was  the  opposite  of  that  pj 
‘‘a  relation  of  Madame  de  Beaiif 
man  introduced  by  favor  into  tf 
tor  of  curios,  who  touching  thoij 
of  sculptured  figures,  knocks 
four  heads  which  have  been 
like  jumping  into  an  abyss. 

Restaud  wore  an  expressionj 
ference,  and  her  eyes  pointej 
Madame/^  said  he,  I le| 

Monsieur  de  Restaud.  Be 
age,  and  permit  me  — ’’ 

Whenever  you  come  to 
quickly,  cutting  him  short  by  a gestil 
sure  of  giving  Monsieur  de  Restaud 
greatest  pleasure.’’ 

Eugene  bowed  low  to  husband  and  wife, 
out,  followed,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Restaud,  who  accompanied  him  through  the 
antechamber.  * 

Whenever  that  gentleman  calls  again,”  said  the 
count  to  Maurice,  remember  that  Madame  and  I are 
not  at  home.” 

When  Eugene  came  out  on  the  portico  he  found 
that  it  was  raining. 

‘^Well,”  he  said  to  himself,  “I  have  made  some 
horrible  blunder,  — I don’t  know  what  it  is,  nor  what 
it  may  lead  to  ; and  now  I am  going  to  spoil  my  hat 
and  clothes ! I ’d  better  have  stayed  at  home  grub- 
bing at  law,  and  contented  myself  with  being  a coun- 
try magistrate.  How  am  I to  go  into  the  world,  when 
to  get  along  with  decency  one  must  have  lots  of 


and^ 


re  Groriot. 


is-boots,  riggings  that  are  al> 
-old  chains,  buckskin  gloves  for 
six  francs,  and  kid  gloves  for 
ue  of  a Pere  Goriot,  — va  / ” 
elf  in  the  street  the  driver  of  a 
obably  just  disposed  of  a brb 
o pick  up  a fare  on  his  own 
to  his  stable,  made  a sign  to 
ut  an  umbrella,  in  a black 
low  gloves,  and  varnished 
I of  those  blind  rages  which 
lunge  deeper  into  the  gulf 
funder  the  idea  of  finding  some 
.ting  out.  He  signed  to  the  coach- 
into  the  carriage,  where  a few  orange- 
scraps  of  silver  ribbon  attested  the  recent 
„ ence  of  a bridal  party. 

‘ Where  to,  Monsieur  ? ” said  the  man,  who  had  taken ' 


off  his  white  gloves. 

Hang  it ! ” thought  Eugene,  “ since  I am  in  for  it 
I may  as  well  get  something  out  of  it.  To  the  Hotel 
Beaus^ant,”  he  said  aloud. 

Which  one  ? ” asked  the  coachman. 

This  question  wholly  confounded  our  embryo  man 
of  fashion,  who  was  not  aware  that  there  were  two 
Hotels  Beauseants,  and  did  not  know  how  rich  lie  was 
in  grand  relations  to  whom  he  was  equally  unknown. 

“ Vicomte  de  Beauseant,  Rue  — ” 

‘‘  De  Grenelle,”  said  the  driver,  nodding  and  inter- 
rupting the  direction.  ‘‘You  see  there’s  the  hotel  of 
the  Comte  and  the  Marquis  de  Beauseant,  Rue  Saint 
Dominique,”  he  added,  putting  up  the  steps. 


Pere  Groriot, 


81 


« I am  aware  of  it,”  said  Eugene  dryly.  Is  every= 
body  laughing  at  me  to-day  ? ” he  said  to  himself,  an- 
grily flinging  his  hat  upon  the  seat  before  him.  “ I ’m 
launched  on  a prank  which  is  going  to  cost  me  a king’s 
ransom.  But  at  least  I’ll  pay  a visit  to  my  so-called 
cousin  in  a style  that  is  solidly  aristocratic.  Pere 
Goriot  has  cost  me  not  less  than  ten  francs  — the  old 
scoundrel ! Confound  it ! I ’ll  tell  the  whole  story 
to  Madame  de  Beauseant ; perhaps  it  will  make  her 
laugh.  She  may  know  what  bond  of  iniquity  unites 
that  old  rat  without  a tail  to  his  beautiful  countess. 
I had  better  on  the  whole  stick  to  ray  cousin,  and  not 
run  after  that  shameless  woman;  besides,  I foresee 
it  would  be  horribly  expensive.  If  the  very  name 
of  the  vicomtesse  is  so  powerful,  ot  what  weight  must 
her  personal  power  be  ! Aim  high  ! when  we  seek  for 
something  in  the  skies  we  must  needs  look  to  God ! ” 

I These  words  contain  the  substance  of  the  thousand 
land  one  thoughts  which  floated  through  his  mind.  He 
recovered  some  calmness  and  self-possession  as  he  saw 
!the  rain  falling,  for  he  said  to  himself  that  if  he  was 
forced  to  part  with  two  of  his  precious  five-franc  pieces 
they  were  well  spent  in  saving  his  best  coat  and  hat 
iand  boots.  He  heard,  with  a touch  of  hilarity,  the 
coachman  call  “Gate,  if  you  please  ! ” A Sicisse^  in  red 
livery  and  gold  lace,  made  it  swing  on  its  hinges,  and 
Rastignac,  with  much  complacency,  saw  his  carriage 
pass  in  under  the  archway,  turn  round  in  the  courtyard, 
and  draw  up  under  the  roof  of  the  portico.  The  coach- 
man, in  a big  great-coat  of  blue  with  red  facings,  let 
down  the  steps.  As  he  got  out  of  the  carriage  Eugene 
heard  sounds  of  stifled  laughter  proceeding  from  the 

6 


82 


Pere  Goriot. 


men-servants,  three  or  four  of  whom  were  watching 
the  bridal  coach  from  the  colonnade.  Their  mirth  en- 
lightened the  student,  who  now  compared  his  vulgar 
equipage  with  one  of  the  most  elegant  coupes  in  Paris, 
drawn  by  a pair  of  bay  horses  with  roses  in  their  head- 
stalls,  that  were  champing  their  bits  under  the  charge 
of  a powdered  coachman  who  kept  a tight  hand  on 
his  reins.  In  the  Chaussee  d’Antin  the  stylish  cabrio- 
let of  a dandy  of  twenty-six  stood  in  the  courtyard  of 
Madame  de  Restaud,  while  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  waited,  in  all  the  pomp  of  a grand-seigneur, 
an  equipage  that  thirty  thousand  francs  would  scarcely 
have  paid  for. 

“ Who  can  that  be  ?”  thought  Eugene,  beginning  to 
be  conscious  that  in  Paris  all  women  of  fashion  have 
their  private  engagements ; and  that  the  conquest  of 
one  of  these  queens  of  society  might  cost  more  money 
than  blood. 

‘‘  The  deuce  ! my  cousin  too  may  have  her  Maxime.” 

He  went  up  the  broad  front  steps  with  a sinking 
heart.  A glass  door  opened  before  him,  and  he  found 
the  footmen  within  looking,  by  this  time,  as  solemn  as 
donkeys  under  the  curry-comb.  The  ball  had  been 
given  in  the  state  apartments  which  were  on  the 
ground-floor  of  the  hotel.  Having  had  no  time  to  call 
upon  his  cousin  between  the  invitation  and  the  ball,  he 
had  not  yet  penetrated  to  her  private  apartments,  and 
he  was  now  to  see  for  the  first  time  those  marvels  of 
personal  elegance  which  indicate  the  habits  and  the 
tastes  of  a woman  of  distinction,  — a study  all  the 
more  interesting  because  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Res- 
taud had  given  him  a standard  of  comparison.  At 


Pere  Croriot. 


83 


half-past  four  the  viscountess  was  visible;  five  minutes 
earlier  he  would  not  have  been  admitted.  Eugene, 
who  knew  nothing  of  these  various  shades  of  Parisian 
etiquette,  was  shown  up  the  grand  staircase,  which  was 
banked  with  flowers  and  was  white  in  tone,  with  gilt 
balusters  and  a red  carpet,  to  the  rooms  of  Madame  de 
Beauseant.  Although  she  was  his  cousin  he  knew 
nothing  of  her  biography,  and  was  not  aware  that  her 
affairs  were  at  this  time  passing  from  ear  to  ear  in  the 
salons  of  Paris. 


84 


Pere  Goriot. 


VII. 

For  three  years  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant  had 
been  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  a w^ealthy  and 
celebrated  Portuguese  nobleman,  the  Marquis  d’Ad- 
juda-Pinto.  It  was  one  of  those  innocent  friendships 
which  have  so  great  a charm  for  those  who  are  thus 
allied  that  they  cannot  endure  to  share  the  companion- 
ship with  others.  The  Vicomte  de  Beauseant  himself 
set  the  example  of  respecting,  willingly  or  unwillingly, 
this  Platonic  intimacy.  Visitors  who  in  the  early  days 
of  the  alliance  came  to  call  upon  the  viscountess  at  two 
o’clock  always  found  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda-Pinto  in 
her  salon.  Madame  de  Beauseant  was  not  a woman 
to  close  her  doors  to  society;  but  she  received  her 
visitors  so  coldly,  and  her  manner  vv^as  so  preoccupied, 
that  they  soon  found  out  they  were  in  her  way  at  that 
hour.  When  it  was  understood  in  Paris  that  Madame 
de  Beauseant  preferred  not  to  receive  visitors  between 
two  and  four  o’clock,  she  was  left  in  peace  at  those 
hours.  She  went  to  the  Bouffons  or  the  opera  accom- 
panied by  Monsieur  de  Beauseant  and  Monsieur  d’Ad- 
juda-Pinto; but  Monsieur  de  Beauseant  had  the  tact  to 
leave  his  wife  with  her  friend  the  Portuguese  after  he 
had  established  her  for  the  evening.  Monsieur  d’Ad- 
juda  was  now  about  to  be  married.  He  was  engaged 
to  a Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide  ; and  in  all  society 


85 


Pere  Goriot. 

there  was  but  one  person  who  knew  nothing  of  this  en- 
gagement. That  one  was  Madame  de  Beauseant.  Some 

of  her  friends  had  indeed  vaguely  alluded  to  the  event 
as  possible ; but  she  had  laughed,  believing  that  they 
wished  to  trouble  a happiness  of  which  they  were  jeal- 
ous. The  banns,  however,  were  on  the  eve  of  being 
published  -,  and  the  handsome  Portuguese  had  come  to 
tell  the  viscountess  on  the  day  of  which  we  write,  but 
bad  not  yet  dared  to  put  his  treachery  into  words. 
There  is  nothing  a man  dreads  more  than  to  break  to 
a woman  the  inevitable  end  of  their  relations.  He 
would  rather  defend  himself  against  another  mans 
rapier  pointed  at  his  throat  than  meet  the  reproaches 
of  a woman,  who,  after  bewailing  her  wrongs  for  hours, 
faints  at  his  feet,  and  asks  for  salts.  At  this  moment 
Monsieur  d’Adjuda-Pinto  sat  on  thorns  and  was  thmk- 
i itnr  of  taking  leave,  saying  to  himself  that  Madame 
de°Beaus(iant  would  surely  hear  the  news  from  othem; 
that  he  would  write  to  her  ; and  that  it  would  be  easier 
to  administer  the  fatal  stab  by  letter.  When,  there- 
fore the  footman  announced  Monsieur  de  Rastignac, 
Monsieur  d’Adjuda-Pinto  made  a slight  gesture  of 
relief.  Alas!  a loving  woman  is  more  ingenious  in 
perceiving  her  wrongs  than  in  vaiying  pleasuies  fo 
the  man  she  loves.  When  > about  to  be  forsaken,  hm 
instinct  divines  the  meaning  of  a gesture  as  unerr- 
ingly as  Virgil’s  courser  divined  in  distant  pastures 
the  presence  of  his  mares.  Therefore  we  may  be  sure 
that  Madame  de  Beauseant  saw  and  understood  that 
shndit  yet  significant  movement  of  relief. 

Eugene  had  not  yet  learned  that  before  entering 
society  in  Paris  a man  should  inform  himself,  through 


86 


Pere  Groriot. 


some  friend  of  each  family,  about  the  history  of  hus 
band,  wife,  and  children,  lest  he  commit  any  of  those 
gross  blunders  which  require  him,  as  they  say  in  Po- 
land, to  ‘Uiarness  oxen  to  his  carriage,’^  — meaning, 
doubtless,  that  the  force  of  an  ox-team  alone  can  drag 
the  blunderer  out  of  the  mud-hole  into  which  he  has 
plunged.  If  as  yet  there  is  no  term  in  the  French 
language  for  such  conversational  mistakes,  it  is  be- 
cause they  are  practically  impossible  for  Parisians  by 
reason  of  the  publicity  which  all  kinds  of  scandal  in- 
stantly obtain.  ^ After  having  gone  heels  over  head 
into  the  mire  at  Madame  de  Restaud’s,  where  he  had 
no  chance  to  harness  his  oxen,  it  seemed  likely  that 
our  provincial  might  yet  need  the  services  of  a team- 
ster by  presenting  himself  at  an  equally  inopportune 
moment  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s.  However,  if  his 
visit  had  been  horribly  annoying  to  Madame  de  Res- 
taud  and  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  he  was  now,  on  the 
contrary,  most  welcome  to  Monsieur  d’Adjuda. 

‘‘  Adieu, said  this  gentleman,  making  for  the  door 
as  Eugene  was  shown  into  the  charming  inner  draw- 
ing-room, all  rose  and  gray,  combining  luxury  with 
elegance. 

“But  this  evening ?’’  said  Madame  de  Beauseant, 
turning  from  Eugene  and  looking  after  Adjuda  ; “ are 
we  not  going  to  the  Bonffons?’’ 

“ I cannot,”  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  door- 
knob. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  rose  and  called  him  back, 
without  paying  the  least  attention  to  Eugene,  who 
was  left  standing,  bewildered  by  the  sparkle  of  great 
wealth, — the  reality,  to  his  mind,  of  the  “Arabian 


Pere  Groriot. 


87 


Nic^hts,^’  — and  much  embarrassed  to  know  what  to  do 

O ' 

with  himself  in  the  presence  of  a woman  who  took  no 
notice  of  him.  Madame  de  Beauseant  lifted  her  right 
forefinger,  and  by  a graceful  gesture  signed  to  the 
marquis  to  come  back  to  her.  There  was  something 
so  passionately  imperative  in  her  air  that  he  let  go  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  came  back  into  the  salon.  Eu- 
gene looked  at  him  with  eyes  of  envy. 

‘‘  That ’s  the  man  who  owns  the  coupe,”  he  said  to 
himself.  “Must  one  have  blood  horses,  and  liveries 
all  covered  with  gold  lace,  to  make  one’s  way  in  Paris 
with  a fashionable  woman  ?” 

The  devil  Belial  bit  into  his  mind;  the  fever  of 
money-getting  was  in  his  veins;  the  thirst  for  gold 
parched  his  heart.  He  had  one  hundred  and  thirty 
francs  left,  to  last  him  three  months.  His  father, 
mother,  brothers,  sisters,  and  aunt  had  but  two  hun- 
dred francs  a month  among  them  all.  This  rapid 
I comparison  of  the  realities  of  his  position  with  the  end 
i that  he  was  planning  to  attain,  staggered  him. 

I “ Why  cannot  you  go  to  the  theatre  ? ” said  the  vis- 
I countess,  smiling. 

* “ I have  business.  I dine  with  the  English  ambas- 

sador.” 

j “ But  you  can  come  away  early.” 

When  a man  deceives,  he  is  forced  to  prop  one  false- 
hood by  another.  Monsieur  d’Adjuda  answered, 
smiling,  — 

“ You  insist,  then  ? ” “ 

“ Of  course  I do.” 

“Ah!  that  was  just  what  I wanted  to  make  you 
say  he  replied,  giving  her  a look  suflEicient  to  reas 


88  Pere  Goriot. 

sure  any  other  woman.  He  took  her  hand,  kissed  it, 
and  went  out. 

Eugene  passed  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and 
turned  toward  Madame  de  Beauseant  to  make  his 
bow,  thinking  she  would  now  give  her  attention  to 
him.  To  his  surprise,  she  sprang  from  her  chair,  ran 
into  the  gallery,  and  looked  out  at  Monsieur  d’Adjuda 
as  he  got  into  his  carriage.  She  listened  for  his  or- 
ders, and  heard  the  chasseur  repeating  to  the  coach- 
man, ‘^To  Monsieur  de  Rochefide’s.” 

These  words,  and  the  way  d’Adjuda  plunged  into 
his  coupe,  were  like  a flash  of  lightning  and  a thunder- 
clap  to  the  poor  woman.  She  drew  back  sick  with 
dread.  The  worst  catastrophes  in  the  great  world 
take  place  thus  quietly  and  suddenly.  The  viscountess 
turned  aside  into  her  bed-room,  took  a dainty  sheet  of 
note-paper,  and  wrote  as  follows  : When  you  have 
dined  at  the  Rochefide’s  (and  not  at  the  English 
ambassador’s),  you  owe  me  an  explanation.  I shall 
expect  you.”  After  straightening  a few  letters  made 
illegible  by  the  trembling  of  her  hand,  she  added  a 
C,  which  meant  Claire  de  Bourgogne,”  and  rang  the 
bell. 

Jacques,”  she  said  to  her  footman, ‘'at  half-past 
seven  take  this  note  to  Monsieur  de  Rochefide’s,  and 
ask  for  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda.  If  he  is  there,  have 
the  note  taken  to  him  at  once.  There  is  no  answer. 
If  he  is  not  there,  bring  it  back  to  me.” 

“ Madame  la  vicorntesse  has  a visitor  in  the  salon.'"* 

“Yes,  true,”  she  said,  closing  the  door. 

Eugene  began  to  feel  very  ill  at  ease ; but  Madame 
de  Beauseant  at  last  came  in  and  said  in  a voir*e  'vhose 


Pere  Gioriot. 


89 


emotion  thrilled  him  to  the  heart,  I beg  your  pardon, 
Monsieur;  I had  to  write  a few  words.  Now  I am 
quite  at  your  service.” 

She  did  not  know  what  she  was  saying.  She  was 
thinking,  “Ah!  he  must  be  going  to  marry  Mademoi- 
selle de  Rochefide.  But  will  he?  Can  he?  To-night 
this  marriage  shall  be  broken  off,  or  I — But,  no  ! it 
shall  he  ! ” 

“ Cousin,”  said  Eugene. 

said  the  viscountess,  giving  him  a look 
whose  cold  displeasure  froze  his  very  blood.  He  under- 
stood her  exclamation,  for  he  had  learned  much  during 
the  last  few  hours,  and  his  mind  was  on  the  alert. 

“ Madame,”  he  resumed,  coloring ; he  stopped  short, 
and  then  continued,  “forgive  me;  I need  help  so 
much,  — and  this  little  shred  of  relationship  would  be 
everything  to  me.” 

Madame  de  Beauseant  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  sad. 

“ If  you  knew  the  situation  of  my  family,”  he  con- 
tinued, “I  think  you  would  find  pleasure  in  playing 
the  part  of  a fairy  godmother  who  removes  all  difficul- 
ties out  of  the  way  of  her  godchild.” 

“Well,  cousin,”  she  said  laughing,  “what  can  I do 
for  you  ? ” 

“ How  can  I tell  you  ? To  be  acknowledged  as  your 
relative,  though  the  link  is  so  far  back  as  to  be  scarcely 
visible,  is  in  itself  a fortune.  I am  confused, — I don’t 
know  what  I had  to  say  to  you.  You  are  the  only 
person  whom  I know  in  Paris.  Ah  ! I ask  your  advice ; 
look  on  me  as  you  might  on  some  poor  child  clinging 
to  your  dress,  — as  one  who  would  die  for  you.” 

“ Would  you  kill  a man  for  my  sake  ? ” 


90 


Pere  Groriot. 


I would  kill  two ! ” exclaimed  Eugene. 

“ Foolish  boy  ! — for  boy  you  are,”  she  said,  repress- 
ing her  tears.  “ You  could  love  truly,  faithfully  ? ” 

“ Ah  !”  he  replied,  throwing  back  his  head. 

The  viscountess  felt  a sudden  interest  in  the  youth, 
and  smiled  at  his  answer.  This  son  of  the  south  was 
at  the  dawn  of  his  ambition.  As  he  passed  from  the 
blue  boudoir  of  Madame  de  Restaud  to  the  rose-colored 
drawing-room  of  Madame  de  Beauseant  he  had  taken 
a three-years’  course  in  the  social  code  of  Paris,  — a 
code  never  formulated  in  words,  but  constituting  a high 
social  jurisprudence,  which,  if  well  studied  and  well 
applied,  leads  to  fortune. 

Already,”  said  Eugene,  I was  attracted  at  your 
ball  by  Madame  de  Restaud,  and  this  morning  I went 
to  call  upon  her.” 

You  must  have  been  very  much  in  her  way,”  re- 
marked Madame  de  Beauseant. 

‘‘Indeed  I was.  I am  an  ignoramus  who  will  set 
everybody  against  him  if  you  refuse  to  help  me.  I 
think  it  must  be  difficult  in  Paris  to  find  a young,  beau- 
tiful, rich,  and  elegant  woman  who  is  not  already  occu- 
pied by  the  attachment  of  some  man.  I need  one  who 
will  teach  me  what  you  women  know  far  better  than 
we  do,  — life.  Unless  you  guide  me  1 shall  be  forever 
stumbling  on  some  Maxime  de  Trailles.  I have  come 
to  ask  you  in  thb  first  place  to  solve  a riddle  and  ex- 
plain to  me  the  nature  of  a blunder  I have  committed 
at  Madame  de  Restaud’s.  I mentioned  a Pere  — ” 
“Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Langeais,”  said  Jacques, 
cutting  short  Eugene’s  words.  He  made  a gesture  as 
if  greatly  annoyed  by  the  interruption. 


Pere  Q-oriot, 


91 


« If  you  wish  to  succeed  in  society,”  said  Madame 
de  Beauseant,  in  a low  voice,  “ you  must  begin  by  be- 
ing less  demonstrative.  — Ah,  good  morning,  dear,” 
she  cried,  rising  and  going  to  meet  the  duchess,  whose 
hands  she  pressed  tenderly,  while  the  duchess  responded 
by  fond  little  caresses. 

‘‘  They  are  dear  friends,”  thought  Rastignac ; “ heart 
answers  to  heart.  I shall  have  two  protectoresses,  both 
taking  interest  in  my  future.” 

“ To  what  happy  thought  do  I owe  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  to-day,  dear  Antoinette  ? ” said  Madame  de 
Beauseant. 

“I  saw  Monsieur  d’Adjuda-Pinto  going  into  Mon- 
sieur de  Rochefide’s,  and  I knew  that  I should  find 
you  alone.” 

Madame  de  Beauseant  did  not  bite  her  lips,  nor 
blush,  nor  did  the  expression  of  her  face  change;  on 
the  contrary  her  brow  seemed  to  clear  as  Madame  de 
Langeais  uttered  the  fatal  words. 

If  I had  known  you  were  engaged  — ” added  the 
duchess,  glancing  at  Eugene. 

‘‘  Monsieur  is  Monsieur  Eugene  de  Rastignac,  one  of 
my  cousins,”  said  Madame  de  Beauseant.  “ Have  you 
heard,”  she  continued,  ‘^of  General  Montriveau  lately? 
Serizy  told  me  yesterday  that  no  one  sees  him  now. 
Has  he  been  with  you  to-day  ? ” 

People  said  that  the  Marquis  de  Montriveau  had 
broken  with  Madame  de  Langeais,  who  was  deeply  in 
love  with  him.  She  felt  the  intended  stab,  and  blushed 
as  she  answered,  “ He  was  at  the  Elysee  yesterday. 

‘‘  On  duty  ? ” asked  Madame  de  Beauseant. 

‘‘  Clara,  of  course  you  know,’*  said  the  duchess,  spite 


92 


Pere  Groriot. 


gleaming  in  her  eyes,  that  to-morrow  the  banns  are 
to  be  published  between  Monsieur  d’Adjuda-Pinto  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide.” 

This  blow  struck  home.  The  viscountess  grew  pale, 
but  she  answered,  laughing,  — 

“ That  is  merely  a piece  of  gossip  set  afloat  by 
people  who  know  nothing.  Why  should  Monsieur 
d’Adjuda-Pinto  ally  one  of  the  noblest  names  in  Por- 
tugal with  that  of  the  Rochefides  ? Their  title  dates 
from  yesterday.” 

‘‘  They  say  Berthe  will  have  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  a year.” 

‘‘Monsieur  d’Adjudais  too  rich  to  marry  for  money.” 

“But,  my  dear  Clara,  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide  is 
charming.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ He  dines  there  to-day ; the  settlements  are  drawn  5 
I am  astonished  that  no  one  has  told  you.” 

“ What  was  that  blunder  you  were  telling  me  about, 
Monsieur?”  said  Madame  de  Beauseant,  turning  to 
Eugene.  “ Poor  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  has  so  re- 
cently entered  the  gay  world,  dear  Antoinette,”  she 
continued,  “ that  he  cannot  understand  our  conversa- 
tion. Be  good  to  him,  and  put  off  all  you  have  to  say 
about  this  news  until  to-morrow.  To-morrow  we  shall 
know  it  ofliicially,  and  you  can  be  just  as  officious  then, 
you  know.” 

The  duchess  gave  Eugene  one  of  those  ineflTable 
looks  which  envelop  a man  from  head  to  foot,  strike 
him  flat,  and  let  him  drop  to  zero. 

“ Madame,”  he  said,  “ without  knowing  what  I was  ! 
about,  I seem  to  have  plunged  a dagger  into  the  heart 


Fere  Croriot. 


93 


of  Madame  de  Restaud.  Had  I done  this  on  purpose 
I might  not  have  been  in  disgrace  5 niy  fault  lay  in  not 
knowing  what  I was  doing.”  Eugene’s  natural  clever- 
ness made  him  conscious  of  the  bitterness  underlying 
the  affectionate  words  of  the  two  ladies.  “ People, 
he  added,  “ do  not  break  with  the  friend  who  inten- 
tionally wounds  them,  though  they  may  fear  him^  for 
the  future.  But  he  who  wounds  unconsciously  is  a 
poor  fool,  — “ a man  of  too  little  tact  to  turn  anything 
to  profit,  and  every  one  despises  him.” 

Madame  de  Beauseant  gave  the  student  a look  that 
expressed  her  gratitude,  and  yet  was  full  of  dignity. 
This  glance  was  balm  to  the  wound  inflicted  by  the 
duchess  when  she  looked  him  over  and  over  with  the 
sye  of  a detective. 

‘'About  my  blunder  — you  must  know,”  resumed 
Eugene,  “that  I had  succeeded  in  securing  the  good- 
will of  Monsieur  de  Restaud,  for  — ” turning  to  the 
duchess  with  a manner  partly  humble,  partly  mischiev- 
ous, “ I ought  to  inform  you,  Madame,  that  I am  as 
yet  only  a poor  devil  of  a law -student,  very  lonely, 
very  poor  — ” 

“ Never  say  so.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  ; we  women 
do  not  value  that  which  is  not  valued  by  others.” 

“ But,”  said  Eugene,  “ I am  only  twenty-two,  and  I 
must  learn  to  put  up  with  the  natural  misfortunes  of 
my  age.  Besides,  I am  making  my  confession  : could 
I kneel  in  a more  charming  confessional  ? Here  we 
commit  the  sins  for  which  we  receive  penance  in 
the  other.” 

The  duchess  listened  to  these  irreligious  remarks  with 
studied  coldness,  and  marked  her  sense  of  their  bad 


94  Pere  Groriot, 

taste  by  saying  to  the  viscountess : Monsieur  has 
just  arrived  ? ” 

Madame  de  Beauseant  laughed  heartily  both  at  her 
cousin  and  at  the  duchess.  “ Yes,”  she  said,  he  has 
Just  arrived  in  Paris,  my  dear,  in  search  of  a precep- 
tress to  teach  him  taste  and  manners.” 

“ Madame  la  duchesse,”  said  Eugene,  “ is  it  not  per- 
missible to  try  to  possess  ourselves  of  the  secrets  of 
those  who  charm  us  ? — There  ! ” he  said  to  himself ; 
‘‘now  I am  talking  just  like  a hair-dresser — ” 

“But  I have  heard  that  Madame  de  Restaud  is  a 
pupil  of  Monsieur  de  Trailles,”  said  the  duchess. 

“ I did  not  know  it,  Madame,”  resumed  the  student ; 
“ and  like  a fool  I broke  in  upon  them.  However,  I 
was  getting  on  very  well  with  the  husband,  and  the 
wife  had  apparently  made  up  her  mind  to  put  up  with 
me,  when  I must  needs  tell  them  that  I recognized  a 
man  whom  I had  just  seen  leave  their  house  by  a back 
door,  and  who  kissed  the  countess  at  the  end  of  the 
passage  — ” 

“ Who  was  it  ? ’’  exclaimed  both  ladies  at  once. 

“ An  old  man,  who  lives  for  two  louis  a month  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Margeau,  where  I,  a poor  student,  live 
myself ; a forlorn  old  man,  whom  we  all  ridicule  and 
call  Pere  Goriot.” 

“ Oh,  child  that  you  are ! ” exclaimed  the  viscount- 
ess ; “ Madame  de  Restaud  was  a Mademoiselle 

Goriot.” 

“Daughter  of  a man  who  makes  vermicelli,”  said 
the  duchess;  “a  person  who  was  presented  at  court 
on  the  same  day  as  a pastry-cook’s  daughter.  Don’t 
you  remember,  Clara  ? The  king  laughed,  and  said  a 


Pere  Goriot. 


95 


good  thing  in  Latin  about  flour — people  — how  was 
it  ? People  — ” 

“ Mjusdem  farince”  suggested  Eugene. 

“ That  was  it ! ” said  the  duchess. 

“And  so  he  is  really  her  father?”  exclaimed  the 
student,  with  a gesture  of  disgust. 

“Just  so;  the  man  had  two  daughters,  and  was 
quite  foolish  about  them.  Both  of  them  have  since 
cast  him  off.” 

“The  youngest,”  said  Madame  de  Beauseant,  ad- 
dressing Madame  de  Langeais,  “ is  married,  is  she  not, 
to  a banker  with  a German  name,  — a Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen?  Is  not  her  name  Delphine,  — a fair  woman, 
who  has  a side  box  at  the  opera,  and  who  comes  to 
the  Bouffons,  and  laughs  a great  deal  to  attract 
attention  ? ” 

The  duchess  smiled  as  she  answered,  “My  dear, 
you  astonish  me.  Why  do  you  care  to  know  about 
such  people  ? A man  must  be  madly  in  love,  as  they 
say  Restaud  was  with  Mademoiselle  Anastasie,  to 
powder  himself  with  flour.  Ah  ! but  he  made  a poor 
bargain!  She  has  fallen  into  Monsieur  de  Trailles’ 
hands,  and  he  will  ruin  her.” 

“Did  you  say  that  they  have  cast  off  their  father?” 
asked  Eugene. 

“Yes,  indeed;  their  father,  the  father,  a father, 
cried  the  viscountess  ; “ a good  father,  who  gave  these 
daughters  all  he  had,  — to  each  of  them  seven  or 
eight  hundred  thousand  francs,  — that  he  might  secure 
their  happiness  by  great  marriages,  and  kept  for  him- 
self only  eight  or  ten  thousand  francs  a year ; thinking 
that  his  daughters  would  remain  his  daughters,  — that 


96 


Pere  Qoriot, 


he  would  have  two  homes  in  his  old  age,  two  families 
where  he  would  be  adored  and  taken  care  of.  Before 
three  years  were  over,  both  sons-in-law  cast  him  out 
as  if  he  had  been  the  veriest  wretch  living  — 

Tears  gathered  in  the  eyes  of  Eugene  de  Rastignac, 
who  had  recently  renewed  the  pure  and  sacred  ties  of 
home,  and  still  clung  to  the  beliefs  of  his  boyhood. 
He  was  making  his  first  encounter  with  the  world  on 
the  battle-field  of  Parisian  civilization.  Real  feeling 
is  contagious;  and  for  a moment  all  three  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence. 

“ Good  heavens  ! ” said  Madame  de  Langeais ; it 
seems  horrible ; and  yet  we  see  the  same  thing  every 
day.  And  why?  My  dear  Clara,  have  you  never 
thought  what  it  would  be  to  have  a son-in-law  ? A 
son-in-law  is  a man  for  whom  we  may  bring  up  — you 
or  I — a dear  little  creature  to  whom  we  should  be 
bound  by  a thousand  tender  ties ; who  for  seventeen 
years  would  be  the  darling  of  the  family,  — ‘the  white 
soul  of  her  home,’  as  Lamartine  says,  - — and  who  might 
end  by  becoming  its  curse.  When  the  man  for  whom 
we  brought  her  up  takes  her  away,  he  will  use  her  love 
for  him  as  an  axe  to  cut  her  free  from  every  tie  that 
binds  her  to  her  family.  Yesterday  our  little  ^daugh- 
ter was  our  own,  and  we  were  all  in  all  to  her;  to- 
morrow she  will  seem  to  be  our  enemy.  Don’t  we 
see  such  tragedies  around  us  every  day?  The  daugh- 
ter-in-law coolly  impertinent  to  the  father  who  has 
sacrificed  everything  for  her  husband,  the  son-in-law 
thrusting  his  wife’s  mother  out  of  doors  ? I hear  peo- 
ple say  that  there  is  nothing  dramatic  now-a-days  in  I 
society.  Why,  this  drama  of  the  son-in-law  is  horrible,  | 


Fere  Cforiot. 


97 


— not  to  speak  of  our  marriages,  which  have  become 
sad  follies,  to  say  the  least.  I perfectly  recollect  the 
history  of  that  vermicelli  man,  Foriot  — ” 

“ Goriot,  Madame.” 

“Yes,  true;  Moriot  was  president  of  his  section 
during  the  Revolution;  He  was  behind  the  scenes, 
ami  when  the  great  scarcity  was  at  hand  he  made  his 
fortune  by  selling  flour  for  ten  times  what  it  cost  him. 
My  grandmothei'’s  bailiff  sold  him  wheat  to  an  im- 
mense amount.  Goriot  no  doubt  divided  his  profits 
as  all  those  people  did  — with  the  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety.  I recollect  the  bailiff  saying  to  my  grand- 
mother that  she  might  feel  quite  safe  at  Grand  villiers, 
because  her  crops  were  an  excellent  certificate  of  citi- 
zenship. Well ! this  Loriot,  who  sold  flour  to  the  men 
who  cut  our  heads  off,  had  but  one  passion,  — he  adored 
his  daughters.  He  contrived  to  perch  the  eldest  in 
the  Restaud  family,  and  graft  the  other  on  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  — a rich  banker  who  pretends  to  be  a 
Royalist.  You  understand  that  during  the  Empire 
the  sons-in-law  did  not  so  much  mind  having  the  old 
Jacobin  of  ’93  under  their  roof:  under  Bonaparte 
what  did  it  signify  ? But  when  the  Bourbons  came 
back,  the  old  man  was  a great  annoyance  to  Monsieur 
de  Restaud,  and  still  more  so  to  the  banker.  The 
daughters,  who  for  aught  I know  may  have  been  fond 
of  their  father,  tried  to  ‘ run  with  the  hare  and  hold 
with  the  hounds,’  as  we  say.  They  asked  Goriot  to 
their  houses  when  they  had  nobody  there ; invented, 
I have  no  doubt,  pretty  pretexts:  ‘Oh,  do  come, 
papa ! It  will  be  so  pleasant : we  shall  have  you  all 
to  ourselves,’  — and  so  on.  My  dear,  I always  main- 

7 


98 


Pere  Gioriot. 


tain  that  real  feeling  is  sharp-sighted ; if  so^  poor  old 
'93’s  heart  must  have  bled.  He  saw  that  his  daughters 
were  ashamed  of  him,  and  that  if  they  loved  their 
husbands  he  was  injuring  them.  He  saw  the  sacrifice 
which  was  required  of  him,  and  he  made  it,  — made 
it  as  only  a father  can.  He  sacrificed  himself;  he 
banished  himself  from  their  homes ; and  when  he  saw 
his  daughters  happy  he  was  satisfied.  Father  and 
daughters  were  accomplices  in  this  crime  against  pa- 
ternity. We  see  this  sort  of  thing  every  day.  You 
can  well  imagine  Pere  Doriot  to  have  been  like  a spot 
of  cart-grease  in  his  daughters’  drawing-rooms.  He 
would  have  felt  it  himself,  and  suffered  from  it.  What 
happened  to  him  as  a father,  my  dear,  happens  to  the 
prettiest  woman  in  the  world  with  the  man  she  loves 
best.  If  her  love  wearies  him  he  will  go  elsewhere, 
and  will  treat  her  like  a coward  to  get  away.  That  is 
the  upshot  of  all  extravagant  attachments.  The  heart 
is  a treasury : empty  it  all  at  once,  and  you  will  find 
yourself  ruined.  We  think  just  as  little  of  those  who 
expend  all  their  love  as  we  do  of  a man  who  flings 
away  his  last  penny.  This  father  gave  his  all.  For 
twenty  years  he  had  lavished  his  love,  his  life,  on  these 
two  girls ; his  fortune  he  gave  them  in  one  day.  The 
lemon  was  squeezed,  and  the  daughters  flung  the  rind 
into  the  gutter.” 

The  world  is  infamous  ! ” said  the  viscountess, 
fringing  her  ribbon  and  not  looking  up,  for  Madame 
de  Langeais’  allusions  to  herself  as  she  told  the  story 
cut  her  to  the  quick. 

‘‘Infamous? — No,”  replied  the  duchess.  “The 
world  goes  on  its  own  way,  that  is  all.  I only  want 


P^re  Cforiot. 


99 


to  prove  to  you  that  I ani  not  its  dupe.  Yes,  I think 
as  you  do,”  she  added,  taking  the  viscountess’s  hand,— 
“ if  the  world  is  a slough,  let  us  stand  upon  high  ground 
and  keep  ourselves  out  of  the  slime.” 

She  rose  and  kissed  Madame  de  Beauseant  on  the 
forehead,  saying,  “You  are  lovely  at  this  moment, 
dear  heart;  you  have  the  prettiest  color  I ever 
saw,”  and  she  left  the  room  with  a slight  bow  to  the 
student. 

“Pere  Goriot  is  sublime  !”  cried  Eugene,  remember- 
ino'  how  he  had  seen  him  destroy  his  pieces  of  silver 
in  the  night-time. 

Madame  de  Beaus(iant  did  not  hear  him;  she  was 
thinking  deeply.  A few  moments  passed  in  silence, 
and  our  poor  youth,  in  a stupor  of  shyness,  dared 
neither  go  nor  stay,  nor  speak  to  her. 

“ The  world  is  wicked  — it  is  cruel,”  said  the  vis- 
countess at  last.  “When  misfortune  overtakes  us 
there  is  never  a friend  wanting  to  tell  it  in  our  ear ; to 
probe  our  heart  with  a dagger  and  ask  us  to  admire 
the  hilt.  Already  sarcasm ! already  the  mocking 
tongues!  Ah!  I will  defend  myself!”  She  lifted  her 
head  proudly  like  the  grande  dame  that  she  so  truly 
was,  and  her  eyes  flashed.  “ Ah ! ” she  exclaimed,  sef ■ 
ing  Eugene,  “ you  here  ? ” 

“ Still  here,”  he  answered  humbly. 

“ Monsieur  de  Rastignac,”  she  said,  “ learn  to  treat 
society  as  it  deserves.  Yon  wish  to  succeed  in  it ; 1 
will  help  you.  You  will  find  out  how  deep  is  the  cor- 
ruption among  women ; how  wide  the  range  of  the 
contemptible  vanity  of  men.  I thought  myself  well 
read  in  the  book  of  the  world ; I find  pages  hitherto 


100 


Pere  Croriot. 


I unknown  to  me.  Now  I know  all.  The  more  cold, 
blooded  your  purpose  the  surer  you  will  be  of  success. 

I Strike  without  pity,  and  the  world  will  fear  you.  Treat 
men  and  women  as  post-horses  : never  mind  if  you 
founder  them,  so  long  as  they  get  you  to  the  next  relay. 
In  the  first  place,  you  will  make  no  progress  unless 
you  find  some  woman  to  take  you  up  and  be  interested 
in  you.  She  must  be  young,  rich,  and  elegant.  But 
if  you  really  care  for  her,  hide  your  feelings ; don’t  let 
her  suspect  them,  or  you  are  lost : instead  of  being  the 
executioner,  you  will  be  the  victim.  If  you  love,  keep 
your  own  secret.  Never  reveal  it  until  you  know  well 
the  friend  to  whom  you  bare  your  heart.  Learn  to^ 
mistrust  the  world.  Let  me  tell  you,  Miguel  [she  did 
not  notice  her  mistake],  there  is  something  in  those 
Goriot  sisters  even  more  shocking  than  their  neglect 
of  their  father,  whom  they  wish  dead.  I mean  their 
rivalry  to  each  other.  Restaud  is  of  ancient  family ; 
his  wife  has  been  adopted  by  his  relatives  and  pre- 
sented at  court.  But  her  sister,  her  rich  sister,  the 
beautiful  Madame  Delphine  de  Nucingen,  though  the 
wife  of  a man  made  of  money,  is  dying  with  envy,  — 
the  victim  of  jealousy.  She  is  a hundred  leagues  lower 
in  society  than  her  sister.  Her  sister  is  no  longer  her 
sister;  they  renounce  each  other  as  they  both  re- 
nounced their  father.  Madame  de  Nucingen  would 
lap  up  all  the  mud  between  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare  and 
the  Rue  de  Grenelle  to  gain  admittance  to  my  salo7i. 
She  thought  deMarsay  could  arrange  it  for  her,  and  she 
has  been  the  slave  of  de  Marsay,  and  has  simply  bored 
de  Marsay.  De  Marsay  cares  very  little  for  her.  My 
cousin,  here  is  your  opportunity.  If  you  present  her 


Pere  Goriot. 


101 


to  me  she  will  adore  you,  and  lavish  everything  upon 
you.  You  may  adore  her  if  you  can,  but  at  any  rate 
make  use  of  her.  I will  let  her  come  here  to  two  or 
three  balls,  — but  only  to  balls,  with  the  crowd;  I will 
never  receive  her  in  the  morning.  I will  bow  to  her, 
and  that  will  be  quite  enough.  You  have  shut  her 
sister’s  doors  against  you  by  pronouncing  the  name 
of  Pere  Goriot.  Yes,  my  dear  cousin,  you  may  call 
twenty  times  at  Madame  de  Eestaud’s,  and  twenty 
times  you  will  be  told  that  she  is  out.  Orders  have 
been  given  to  refuse  you  admission.  W ell,  make  Pere 
Goriot  introduce  you  to  her  sister ; wear  the  colors 
of  the  handsome  Madame  Delphine  de  Nucingen  ; let 
it  be  known  that  you  are  the  man  she  distinguishes, 
and  other  women  will  go  distracted  about  you.  Her 
rivals,  her  friends,  — her  dearest  friends,  — will  try  to 
win  you  from  her.  Some  women  prefer  a man  who  is 
the  property  of  another  woman,  — just  as  women  of  the 
middle  class  think  they  acquire  our  manners  when  they 
copy  our  millinery.  You  will  succeed  ; and  in  Paris 
,£uccess  is  everything,  — it  is  the  key  to  power.  If  wO' 
men  think  you  clever,  men  will  believe  you  so  unless 
you  undeceive  them.  From  this  point  you  may  aim  at 
what  you  will,  — you  have  your  foot  upon  the  ladder. 
You  will  find  out  that  society  is  a mixture  of  dupes 
and  cheats.  Try  to  be  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
My  cousin,  I give  you  toy  name,  like  the  clew  of  Ari- 
adne, to  lead  you  into  the  heart  of  the  labyrinth.  Do 
not  disgrace  it,”  she  added,  turning  to  him  with  the 
glance  of  a queen  ; “ give  it  back  to  me  unsullied.  Now 
leave  me.-  Women  have  their  battles  to  fight  as  well 
as  men.” 


102  Pere  GrorioL 

‘‘  If  you  need  a man  ready  to  fire  a mine  for  you  — ” 
began  Eugene. 

What  if  I should  ? ” she  cried. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  smiled  in  answer  to 
her  smile,  and  went  out. 

It  was  five  o’clock;  he  was  very  hungry  and  half 
afraid  he  should  not  get  home  in  time  for  dinner.  This 
fear  made  him  appreciate  the  advantages  of  whirl- 
ing along  in  his  glass  coach.  The  fast  motion  made 
his  mind  run  on  the  new  thoughts  that  assailed  him. 
When  a youth  of  his  age  meets  with  a rebuff  he  loses 
his  temper,  he  grows  furious,  shakes  his  fist  at  socie- 
ty, and  vows  to  be  revenged ; but  at  the  same  time 
his  confidence  in  himself  is  shaken.  Rastignac  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  words  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  — 
You  have  closed  the  doors  of  the  countess  against 
you.” 

I will  call  there  again  and  again,”  he  cried  ; ‘‘and 
if  Madame  de  Beauseant  is  right,  if  she  has  given 
orders  not  to  admit  me,  — I — Madame  de  Restaud 
shall  meet  me  at  every  house  she  visits  — I will  make 
myself  a sure  shot ; I will  kill  her  Maxime.” 

“ But  how  about  money  ? ” cried  a voice  within 
him.  “ Where  will  you  get  it  ? You  need  money  for 
everything.” 

At  this  thought,  the  wealth  that  shone  round  Ma- 
dame de  Restaud  glittered  before  his  eyes.  He  had 
seen  her  lapped  in  luxury  that  was  doubtless  dear  to 
a demoiselle  Goriot ; gilded  and  costly  ornaments  lay 
strewn  about  her  salons  with  the  unmeaning  profusion 
that  betrays  the  taste  of  a parvenue  and  her  passion 
for  squandering  money.  The  fascinations  of  mere 


Pere  Goriot. 


103 


costliness  had  been  effaced  by  the  grandeur  of  the 
Hotel  Beauseant.  His  imagination  now  whirled  him 
to  the  summits  of  Parisian  life,  and  suggested  thoughts 
which  seared  his  heart,  while  they  stimulated  his  in- 
telligence and  widened  his  perceptions.  He  saw  the 
world  in  its  true  colors.  He  saw  wealth  triumphant 
over  morality,  — triumphant  over  law  and  order.  He 
saw  in  riches  the  tiltifyici  Tcctio  fyizc7io[i,  ^~-3?!^au^tiin  is 
right,”  he  cried,  “ luck  makes  the  difference  between 
vice  and  wStoieJi 

Having  reached  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve, 
he  ran  rapidly  to  his  room  and  returned  bringing  ten 
francs  for  his  coachman,  and  then  entered  the  sicken- 
ing dining-room  where  the  eighteen  guests  sat  eating 
their  food  like  animals  at  a manger.  The  sight  of  their 
collective  poverty  and  the  dinginess  of  the  place  weie 
horrible  to  him.  The  transition  from  the  wealth  and 
grace  and  beauty  he  had  left  was  too  abrupt,  too  com- 
plete, not  to  excite  beyond  all  bounds  his  growing  am- 
bition. On  the  one  hand  fresh  and  lovely  images  of 
all  that  was  elegant  in  social  life,  framed  in  marvels  of 
art  and  luxury,  and  passionate  with  poetical  emotion  ; 
on  the  other,  a dark  picture  of  degradation,  — sinister 
faces  where  passions  had  blighted  all  but  the  sinews 
and  the  mere  mechanism.  The  advice  wrung  from 
Madame  de  Beauseant  in  her  anguish,  and  her  tempting 
offers  to  his  ambition  came  back  to  his  memory,  and  the 
misery  about  him  was  their  commentary.  He  resolved 
to  open  two  parallel  trenches,  — law  and  love;  and 
to  win  fortune  by  his  profession  and  as  a man  of  the 
world.  Child  that  he  was ! these  lines  are  geometric 
aliens,  asymptotes  that  never  touch. 


104 


Pere  Groriot 


‘‘  You  are  solemn,  Monsieur  le  marquis,”  said  Vam 
trin,  giving  him  one  of  those  keen  glances  by  which 
this  singular  man  seemed  to  catch  the  hidden  thoughts 
of  those  around  him. 

“ I am  not  disposed  to  permit  jokes  from  people  who 
call  me  Monsieur  le  marquis,”  Eugene  replied.  To 
be  a marquis  in  Paris  requires  an  income  of  a hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  those  who  live  in  the  Maison 
Vauquer  are  not  exactly  favorites  of  fortune.” 

Vautrin  looked  at  Rastignac  with  a patronizing  air, 
which  seemed  to  say  contemptuously,  ‘‘  You  young 
brat ! I could  gobble  you  up  at  a mouthful ; ” but  he 
answered,  ‘‘  You  are  in  a bad  humor  because  you  have 
not  succeeded  with  the  beautiful  countess.” 

“ She  has  shut  her  doors  against  me  for  saying  that 
her  father  dined  here  with  me  at  this  table,”  cried 
Eugene  angrily. 

All  present  looked  at  one  another.  Pere  Goriot 
looked  down  and  turned  aside  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

“ You  have  blown  your  snulF  into  my  face,”  he  said 
to  his  neighbor. 

Whoever  annoys  Pere  Goriot  will  answer  for  it  to 
me,”  cried  Eugene,  looking  at  the  man  who  sat  next 
to  the  old  paste-maker.  “He  is  better  than  any  of 
us.  I don’t  include  the  ladies,”  he  added,  bowing  to 
Mademoiselle  Taillefer. 

This  speech  brought  the  matter  to  a conclusion,  for 
Eugene  had  uttered  it  in  a way  to  silence  all  the  others 
except  Vautrin,  who  said  sarcastically,  “If  you  are 
going  to  take  up  Pere  Goriot  and  make  yourself  re- 
sponsible for  all  he  says  and  does,  you  will  have  to 
learn  to  use  a sword  and  fire  a pistol.” 


Pere  Q-oriot. 


105 


« I mean  to,”  said  Eugene. 

“ You  declare  war  then  ?” 

“ Perhaps  I do,”  replied  Rastignac  ; “ but  I owe  no 
man  an  account  of  my  conduct,  especially  as  I don’t 
try  to  find  out  what  other  people  are  doing  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.” 

Vautrin  shot  a side-glance  at  him. 

“ My  young  friend,”  said  he,  “ those  who  don’t  want 
to  be  deceived  at  a puppet-show  had  better  go  into  the 
booth  and  not  try  to  peep  through  holes  in  the  curtain. 
That ’s  enough  for  the  present,”  he  added,  seeing  that 
Eugene  was  about  to  reply  ; “ we  will  have  a little  talk 
by  ourselves  whenever  you  like.” 

The  rest  of  the  dinner  passed  in  silence.  Pere 
Goriot,  absorbed  by  the  pang  of  hearing  Eugene’s  re- 
mark about  his  daughter,  was  not  conscious  that  a 
change  had  taken  place  concerning  him  in  the  opinion 
of  others,  and  that  a young  man  able  to  put  his  perse- 
cutors to  silence  had  taken  up  his  defence. 

“ Can  it  be  possible,”  said  Madame  V auquer,  in  a 
whisper,  “ that  Pere  Goriot  is  really  the  father  of  a 
countess  ? ” 

“ And  of  a baroness,  too,”  said  Eugene. 

“ The  father  is  all  there  is  of  him,”  said  Bianchon  to 
Rastignac.  I have  felt  his  head.  It  has  run  to  one 
bunip,  — philoprogenitiveness,  the  bump  of  paternity. 
He  is  all  father  — Eternal  Father,  I should  say.” 

Eugene  was  too  preoccupied  to  laugh.  He  was  con- 
sidering how  to  profit  by  Madame  de  Beauseant  s ad- 
vice, and  in  what  way  he  could  provide  himself  with 
money.  He  was  silent  and  self-absorbed  as  he  saw 
the  rich  plains  of  high  society  stretching  afar  as  in  a 


106  Pere  Goriot^ 

vision.  The  others  rose  and  left  him  alone  when  s 
dinner  was  over.  i 

“You  have  seen  my  daughter?”  said  Goriot  in  a ^ 
voice  which  betrayed  emotion. 

Startled  from  his  meditation,  Eugene  took  the  old 
man  by  the  hand  and  said,  as  he  looked  at  him  almost 
tenderly,  — 

“You  are  a good  and  honorable  man.  We  will  talk 
by  and  by  about  your  daughters,”  and  without  allow- 
ing Pere  Goriot  to  say  more  he  went  to  his  room  and 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  mother : — 

■ ^ 

My  dear  Mother,  — See  if  you  cannot  provide  for  your 
grown-up  son  out  of  your  own  breast  as  you  did  for  him  in 
his  infancy.  I am  in  a position  which  may  speedily  lead  to 
fortune.  I want  twelve  hundred  francs,  and  1 must  have  them 
at  any  price.  Do  not  speak  of  this  to  my  father.  He  might  ob- 
ject ; and  if  I cannot  get  this  money  I shall  be  in  such  despair 
as  to  be  almost  ready  to  blow  my  brains  out.  I will  tell  you  all 
about  it  when  I see  you,  for  I should  have  to  write  volumes 
if  I tried  to  explain  to  you  the  situation.  I have  not  gambled, 
dear  mother,  and  I have  no  debts ; but  if  you  want  to  preserve 
the  life  you  gave  me,  you  must  manage  to  find  me  this  money. 

I have  been  to  visit  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  who  takes 
me  under  her  protection.  I have  to  go  into  society,  and  I have 
not  a sou  to  buy  gloves  to  wear.  I would  willingly  eat  noth- 
ing but  bread,  and  drink  nothing  but  water ; I could  live  on 
almost  nothing  if  necessary,  but  I cannot  do  without  my  tools 
to  work  with,  — tools  which  cultivate  the  vines  in  this  part  of 
the  world.  I must  either  make  my  way  or  stay  in  a mud-hole. 

I know  what  hopes  you  have  placed  on  me ; and  I want  as 
soon  as  possible  to  realize  them.  Dearest  mother,  sell  some 
of  your  old  jewels  ] before  long  I will  give  them  back  to  you. 

I know  the  situation  of  our  family  well  enough  to  appreciate 


Pere  G-oriot. 


107 


sucli  sacrifices,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  I would  not  ask  you 
to  make  them  in  vain,  — if  I did  I should  be  a monster.  I 
beseech  you  to  see  in  this  request  a cry  of  imperative  necessity. 
Our  future  depends  on  this  loan,  with  which  I can  open  my 
campaign,  — for  this  life  of  Paris  is  a ceaseless  battle.  If 
to  make  up  the  sum  there  is  no  other  resource  than  to  sell  my 
aunt’s  old  lace,  tell  her  I will  hereafter  send  her  some  far  more 
beautiful,  etc. 

He  wrote  also  to  his  sisters,  begging  them  to  send 
him  all  their  little  savings ; and  as  it  was  necessary 
that  this  sacrifice  (which  he  knew  they  would  make 
gladly  for  his  sake)  should  not  come  to  the  ears  of  his 
parents,  he  enlisted  their  delicacy  by  touching  those 
chords  of  honor  which  ring  so  true  in  the  hearts  of 
innocent  young  girls. 

After  writing  these  letters,  he  was  assailed  by  doubts 
and  fears;  he  panted  and  trembled.  His  ambitious 
young  heart  knew  the  pure  nobleness  of  those  tender 
souls  hidden  away  in  the  country  solitudes ; he  knew 
what  privations  he  was  bringing  on  the  sisters,  yet 
with  what  joy  they  would  welcome  his  request.  He 
could  hear  them  whispering  in  the  distant  fields  of  the 
“ dear,  dear  brother  he  saw  them  counting  over  their 
little  hoard,  inventing  girlish  devices  to  send  it  to  him 
secretly,  — practising  a first  deception  for  his  sake. 
His  conscience  leapt  to  the  light.  “ A sister  s heart  is 
like  a diamond,”  he  said  to  himself;  “ a running  stream 
of  tenderness,  clear  and  pure.” 

He  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  written.  How 
they  would  pray  for  him ! How  they  would  lift  their 
souls  to  Heaven  for  his  success  ! With  what  passion- 
ate delight  they  would  sacrifice  themselves  for  his 


108 


Pere  Croriot. 


advantage  ! How  grieved  his  mother  would  be  if  she 
could  not  send  him  the  whole  sum ! And  all  this  good- 
ness, all  these  sacrifices,  were  to  serve  him  as  a ladder 
to  mount  into  the  favor  of  Delphine  de  Nucingen ! A 
few  tears  — grains  of  incense  flung  for  the  last  time 
on  the  sacred  altar  of  his  home  — dropped  from  his 
eyes.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  a state  of 
agitation  and  despair.  Pere  Goriot  seeing  him  thus, 
for  the  door  of  his  room  was  left  ajar,  came  in  and 
asked,  — 

‘‘  Is  anything  the  matter,  Monsieur  ? ” 

‘‘Ah!  my  good  neighbor,”  Eugene  replied;  “I  am 
a son  and  a brother,  even  as  you  are  a father.  You 
may  well  tremble  for  the  Countess  Anastasie.  She  is 
in  the  power  of  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  and  he  will  be 
her  ruin.” 

Pere  Goriot  drew  back  to  his  own  room,  muttering 
a few  words  whose  meaning  was  not  intelligible. 

The  next  morning  Rastignac  went  out  and  posted 
his  letters.  He  hesitated  up  to  the  last  moment ; but 
as  he  flung  them  into  the  box  he  cried,  “I  shall  suc- 
ceed ! ” So  says  the  gambler;  so  says  the  great  com- 
mander. Superstitious  words,  that  have  ruined  more 
men  than  they  have  ever  saved ! 


Pere  Groriot. 


108 


VIII. 

A FEW  days  later  Eugene  went  again  to  call  on 
Madame  de  Restaud,  and  was  not  received.  Three 
times  he  tried  her  door,  and  three  times  he  found  it 
closed  against  him,  though  he  chose  hours  when  he 
knew  Monsieur  Maxime  de  Trailles  was  not  there. 
Madame  de  Beauseant  was  right : he  was  to  visit  her 
no  more. 

Our  student  now  ceased  to  study.  He  went  to 
the  Law  School  merely  to  answer  at  roll-call ; when 
that  was  over  he  decamped.  He  had  persuaded  him- 
self, as  students  often  do,  that  he  might  as  well  put 
off  study  until  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  the  exam- 
inations. He  resolved  to  take  his  second  and  third 
terms  together,  and  to  study  law  with  all  his  might  at 
the  last  moment.  He  could  thus  count  on  fifteen 
months  of  leisure  in  which  to  navigate  the  ocean  of 
Paris,  to  try  what  women’s  influence  might  do  for  him, 
and  find  the  way  to  fish  for  fortune. 

During  this  week  he  called  twice  on  Madame  de 
Beauseant,  taking  care  not  to  go  till  he  had  seen  the 
carriage  of  Monsieur  d’Adjuda-Pinto  driven  out  of  the 
courtyard.  For  a little  while  this  distinguished  woman, 
the  most  poetic  figure  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain, 
remained  mistress  of  her  field  of  battle.  She  broke 
off  for  a time  the  engagement  of  Monsieur  d’Adjuda- 


110 


Pere  Goriot. 


Pinto  to  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide ; but  these  last 
days  of  intimacy,  made  feverish  by  fears  that  she  must 
finally  lose  her  friend,  only  served  to  precipitate  the 
catastrophe.  Both  the  marquis  and  the  Rochefidesf 
looked  on  the  estrangement  and  reconciliation  as  for- 
tunate circumstances.  They  hoped  that  Madame  de 
Beauseant  would  gradually  grow  reconciled  to  the 
marriage,  and  by  saciificing  the  daily  visits  hitherto 
so  dear  to  her,  permit  the  marquis  to  fulfil  the  destiny 
that  belongs  to  every  man.  He  himself  was  playing  a 
part,  notwithstanding  his  protestations  to  the  contrary 
made  daily  to  Madame  de  Beauseant.  She,  meantime, 
though  not  deceived,  liked  his  efforts  to  deceive  her. 
“Instead  of  bravely  jumping  out  of  the  window,  she 
has  preferred  to  roll  down  stairs  step  by  step/’  said 
her  best  friend  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  Still,  these 
final  moments  lasted  long  enough  to  let  the  viscountess 
launch  her  young  relative,  to  whom  she  had  taken  an 
almost  superstitious  fancy,  upon  the  Paris  world.  He 
had  shown  himself  full  of  feeling  for  her  at  a time 
when  women  find  small  pity  or  sympathy  from  others ; 
if  a man  utters  tender  words  at  such  a time,  he  usually 
does  it  on  speculation. 

For  the  purpose  of  knowing  his  ground  before  lay- 
ing siege  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  Eugene  tried  to 
learn  all  he  could  about  the  early  history  of  P^re 
Goriot ; and  he  gathered  certain  accurate  information, 
which  may  briefly  be  given  here. 

Jean  Joachim  Goriot  had  been,  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, a journeyman  vermicelli-maker;  skilful,  frugal, 
and  sufficiently  successful  to  buy  up  the  business  of  his 
master  when  the  latter  was  killed  by  chance  in  the  first 


Pere  Goriot, 


111 


insurrection  of  1789.  His  place  of  business  was  in 
the  Rue  Jussienne,  near  the  Halle  aux  Bles  (Corn- 
market)  ; and  he  had  the  sound  good  sense  to  accept 
the  office  of  president  of  the  section,  and  thus  secure 
for  his  business  the  protection  of  the  persons  who  had 
most  influence  in  those  dangerous  times.  This  fore- 
sight laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  which  began 
in  the  time  of  the  great  scarcity,  real  or  pretended, 
in  consequence  of  which  flour  went  up  to  enormous 
prices  in  Paris.  People  trampled  each  other  to  death 
at  the  shops  of  the  bakers,  while  others  quietly  bought 
the  Italian  pastes  without  difficulty  from  the  grocers. 
That  year  Citizen  Goriot  acquired  capital  enough  to 
carry  on  his  future  business  with  all  the  advantages  of 
a man  who  has  plenty  of  ready  money.  During  the 
worst  days  of  the  Revolution  he  escaped  through  a 
circumstance  which  he  shared  with  other  men  of  lim- 
ited capacity,  — his  mediocrity  saved  him.  Moreover, 
as  he  was  not  known  to  be  rich  until  the  danger  of 
being  so  was  at  an  end,  he  excited  no  envy.  The 
flour  market  seemed  to  have  absorbed  all  his  faculties. 
In  any  matter  that  had  to  do  with  wheat,  flour,  or 
refuse  grain, — whether  it  were  to  sample  their  various 
qualities  or  know  where  they  could  best  be  bought ; to 
keep  them  in  good  order  or  foresee  the  markets ; to 
prophesy  the  results  of  a harvest,  bad  or  bountiful, 
and  buy  breadstuffs  at  the  right  moment  or  import 
them  from  Sicily  or  southern  Russia,  — Pere  Goriot 
had  not  his  equal.  To  see  him  at  his  desk  explaining 
the  laws  that  regulate  the  importation  of  grain,  ex- 
posing their  influence  upon  trade,  and  pointing  out 
their  deficiencies,  he  might  have  been  thought  fit  for 


112 


Pere  Groriot, 


a cabinet  minister.  Patient,  active,  energetic,  always 
on  hand,  quick  to  seize  an  advantage  in  business,  he 
had  the  eye  of  an  eagle  in  his  trade  He  foresaw 
everything,  provided  for  everything,  knew  everything, 
and  kept  his  own  counsel.  Diplomatist  in  laying  his 
plans,  he  was  a general  in  executing  them.  But  take 
him  away  from  his  specialty,  — from  his  little  dark 
shop,  on  the  threshold  of  which  he  spent  his  leisure 
moments  leaning  against  the  post  of  its  street  door,  — 
and  he  fell  back  into  a mere  journeyman,  rough,  stu- 
pid, incapable  of  understanding  an  argument,  insensi- 
ble to  mental  enjoyment ; a man  who  would  go  to 
sleep  at  the  theatre,  and  whose  only  strong  point  was 
his  dense  stupidity. 

Men  of  this  type  are  always  much  alike  ; in  nearly 
all  of  them  you  will  find  one  deep  feeling  hidden  in 
their  souls.  The  heart  of  the  old  paste-maker  held 
two  affections ; they  absorbed  its  juices  just  as  the 
grain-market  absorbed  his  brain.  His  wife,  the  only 
daughter  of  a rich  farmer  at  Brie,  was  the  object  of 
his  fervent  admiration  ; his  love  for  her  was  unbounded. 
In  her  nature,  fragile  yet  firm,  sensible  and  sweet,  he 
found  a happy  contrast  to  his  own.  If  there  is  any 
sentiment  inborn  in  the  heart  of  man,  it  is  one  of  pride 
in  protecting  a being  weaker  than  himself.  Add  love 
to  this  and  the  gratitude  that  simple  natures  feel  to- 
wards one  who  is  the  fount  of  all  their  happiness,  and 
you  will  comprehend  various  moral  singularities  other- 
wise inexplicable.  After  seven  years  of  married  life 
without  a cloud,  Goriot,  unhappily  for  himself,  lost  his 
wife.  She  was  beginning  to  acquire  a strong  influence 
over  him  beyond  the  simple  range  of  his  affections 


1' 


Pere  Goriot, 


lib 


Had  she  lived,  she  might  have  cultivated  his  sluggish 
nature  and  roused  it  to  some  knowledge  of  life  and  the 
world  about  him.  Left  to  himself,  fatherhood  became 
his  absorbing  passion,  and  it  developed  under  his  lonely 
circumstances  until  it  passed  the  bounds  of  reason. 
His  affections,  balked  by  death,  were  now  concentrated 
on  his  daughters,  who  for  a time  satisfied  to  the  full 
his  need  of  love. 

Though  many  prosperous  marriages  were  proposed 
to  him  by  merchants  and  farmers  who  would  gladly 
have  given  him  their  daughters,  he  persisted  in  remain- 
ing a widower.  His  father-in-law,  the  only  man  for 
whom  he  had  ever  felt  a liking,  declared  that  Goriot 
had  promised  his  wife  never  to  be  faithless  even  to  her 
memory.  The  frequenters  of  the  Halle  aux  Bles, 
incapable  of  understanding  so  refined  a folly,  jested 
roughly  on  his  fidelity.  The  first  who  did  so  in  his 
hearing  received  a sudden  blow  on  the  shoulder  from 
the  paste-maker’s  strong  fist,  which  sent  him  head  fore- 
most on  the  curbstone  of  the  Rue  Oblin.  The  blind 
devotion,  the  sensitive  and  nervous  afiection  which 
Goriot  gave  to  his  daughters  was  so  well  known,  that 
one  day  at  the  Halle  a rival  in  the  market,  wishing 
to  get  him  out  of  the  way  for  a short  time,  told  him 
that  his  daughter  Delphine  had  been  run  over  by  a 
cabriolet.  Pale  as  a ghost  he  left  the  Halle.  On 
reaching  home  he  found  the  story  false,  but  was  ill 
for  several  days  from  the  agitation  it  had  caused  him. 
This  time  he  did  not  punish  with  a blow  the  man 
who  played  the  trick,  but  he  hunted  him  from  the 
markets,  and  forced  him  ^t  a critical  moment  into 
bankruptcy. 


Pere  (xoriot. 


114 

The  education  of  his  daughters  was,  naturally,  inju*  ^ 
dicious.  As  he  had  sixty  thousand  francs  a year,  and 
spent  about  twelve  hundred  francs  upon  himself,  he; 
had  enough  to  satisfy  every  girlish  caprice.  The  best 
masters  were  employed  to  teach  them  those  accomplish 
ments  which  are  thought  to  make  a good  education. 
They  had  a dame  de  compagnie  who,  happily  for  them, 
was  a woman  of  sense  and  spirit.  They  rode  on  horse- 
back; they  drove  in  carriages;  they  lived  in  luxury. 
If  they  expressed  a wish,  no  matter  what  the  cost, 
their  father  was  eager  to  grant  it ; all  he  asked  in  re- 
turn was  a caress.  He  ranked  them  with  the  angels, 
far  above  himself  in  every  way.  Poor  man,  he  loved 
even  the  pain  they  caused  him.  When  they  were  of 
age  to  be  married  he  permitted  them  to  choose  their 
husbands.  Each  was  to  have  for  dowry  half  her 
father’s  fortune.  Anastasie,  the  eldest,  had  aristoci  atio 
tastes,  and  was  courted  by  the  Comte  de  Restaud  for 
her  beauty.  She  left  her  father’s  house  to  enter  an 
exalted  social  sphere.  Delphine  loved  money.  She 
married  Nucingen,  a banker  of  German  origin  and  a 
baron  of  the  Holy  Empire.  Goriot  remained  a ver 
micelli-maker.  His  daughters  and  sons-in-law  were 
ashamed  that  he  continued  this  business,  although  the 
occupation  was  life  itself  to  him.  After  resisting  theii 
appeals  for  five  years  he  consented  to  retire  on  the 
profits  of  these  last  years.  This  capital,  as  Madame 
Vauquer  ascertained  when  he  first  went  to  live  with 
her,  yielded  an  income  of  from  eight  to  ten  thousand 
francs.  It  was  despair  that  drove  him  to  the  Maisort 
Vauquer;  despair  at  the  discovery  that  his  daugh- 
ters were  forced  by  their  husbands  not  only  to  refuse 


Pere  Goriot,  115 

him  a home,  but  even  to  receive  him  openly  in  their 
houses. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  the  information  given  to 
Rastignac  by  a Monsieur  Muret,  who  had  purchased 
the  business  from  Goriot.  The  account  given  by  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais  was  thus  confirmed,  and  here 
ends  the  introduction  to  an  obscure  but  terrible 
Parisian  tragedy. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  December 
Rastignac  received  letters  from  his  mother  and  his  eld- 
est sister.  Their  well-known  handwriting  made  his 
heart  beat  fast,  partly  with  relief  and  partly  with  appre- 
hension. Those  slender  papers  held  the  sentence  of 
life  or  death  to  his  ambition.  If  he  dreaded  failure  as 
he  thought  of  his  parents’  poverty,  he  knew  their  love 
for  him  too  well  not  to  tremble  lest  they  might  grant 
his  prayer  at  the  cost  of  their  life’s  blood.  His  mother’s 
letter  was  as  follows  : — 

My  dear  Child,  — I send  you  what  you  ask  for.  Make 
good  use  of  this  money,  for  if  your  life  depended  on  it  I could 
not  raise  so  large  a sum  again  without  speaking  to  your 
father,  and  that  would  cause  trouble  for  our  family.  To  get 
it  we  should  he  obliged  to  mortgage  our  property.  I cannot 
judge  of  the  value  of  plans  that  I know  nothing,  about;  hut 
what  can  they  he  if  you  are  afraid  to  tell  them  to  me  % An 
explanation  would  not  require  volumes ; we  mothers  under- 
stand our  children  at  a word,  and  that  word  would  have  saved 
me  some  sharp  pangs  of  doubt  and  anxiety.  I cannot  hide 
from  you  the  painful  impression  made  upon  me  by  your  letter. 
My  dear  son,  what  is  it  that  has  led  you  to  make  me  so  uneasy 
You  must  have  suffered  in  writing  that  letter,  for  I have  suffered 
so  much  in  reading  it.  What  project  have  you  for  the  future 


116 


Pere  Croriot. 


Does  your  life,  your  happiness,  — as  you  say,  — depend  upon 
appearing  what  you  are  not;  upon  entering  a world  where  you 
cannot  live  without  spending  money  which  you  cannot  aflPord ; 
nor  without  losing  time  most  precious  for  your  studies  ? 

My  own  Eugene,  believe  your  mother  when  she  tells  you 
that  crooked  paths  cannot  lead  to  noble  ends.  Patience  and 
self-sacrifice  are  the  virtues  which  young  men  in  your  position 
must  cultivate.  But  I am  not  reproaching  you  ; I would  not 
mar  our  ofihring  by  a bitter  word.  I speak  as  a mother  who 
trusts  her  son,  even  though  she  cautions  him.  You  know 
your  duty,  and  I know  the  purity  of  your  heart  and  the  loyalty 
of  your  intentions.  Therefore  I do  not  fear  to  say,  — If  all  be 
right,  my  dearest,  follow  out  your  plans.  I tremble  because 
I am  your  mother ; but  every  step  you  make  in  life  will  have 
my  prayers  and  blessing.  You  will  need  to  be  good  and  to 
be  wise,  for  the  future  of  five  beings  near  and  dear  to  you  is 
in  your  hands.  Yes,  our  prosperity  is  bound  up  in  your  pros- 
perity, as  your  happiness  is  our  joy.  We  pray  God  to  be  with 
you  in  all  your  undertakings. 

Your  aunt  Marcillac  has  been  unspeakably  kind  in  this 
affair;  she  even  understood  and  sympathized  with  what  you 
said  of  your  gloves.  But,  then,^^  as  she  said  laughing, 
have  always  had  a soft  spot  in  my  heart  for  the  eldest  son.^^ 
My  Eugene,  be  grateful  to  your  aunt.  I will  not  tell  you  what 
she  has  done  for  you  until  you  have  succeeded ; if  I did,  the 
money  might  scorch  your  fingers.  Ah  ! you  children  little 
know  what  a pang  it  is  to  part  with  souvenirs  ; but  what  would 
we  not  do  for  you!  She  begs  me  to  say  that  she  sends  a kiss, 
and  wishes  her  kiss  could  give  you  strength  to  prosper.  Dear, 
good  woman ! she  would  have  written  herself  but  she  has 
gout  in  her  fingers.  Your  father  is  well.  The  grape  harvest 
of  1819  proves  better  than  we  expected.  Good-by,  my  dear 
boy.  I say  nothing  about  the  sisters,  for  Laure  is  writing  to 
you.  I leave  her  the  pleasure  of  telling  all  the  little  gossip  of 
the  family.  Heaven  grant  you  may  do  weU  I Ah,  prosper, 


Pere  G-oriot. 


117 


my  Eugene  ! Thou  hast  made  me  too  anxious — I could  not 
bear  it  a second  time.  I know  at  last  what  it  is  to  he  poor, 
and  to  long  for  money  that  I might  give  it  to  my  child. 

WrellJ  — adieu.  Write  to  us  constantly ; and  take  the  kiss 
thy  mother  sends  thee. 

When  Eugene  had  read  this  letter  he  was  in  tears. 
He  was  thinking  of  Pere  Goriot  destroying  his  porrin- 
ger and  selling  it  to  pay  his  daughter’s  note  of  hand. 
‘^My  mother  has  given  her  jewels,”  he  cried,  turning 
fiercely  on  himself.  ‘‘  My  aunt  must  have  wept  as  she 
sold  her  family  relics.  What  right  have  I to  con- 
demn Anastasie  ? I have  done  for  self  what  she  did 
for  her  lover ! Which  is  the  worst,  — she  or  I ? ” His 
whole  being  was  wrung  with  intolerable  remorse.  He 
would  relinquish  his  ambition,  — he  would  not  touch 
the  money.  He  was  seized  by  one  of  those  noble 
secret  returns  of  conscience  so  little  comprehended  by 
men  as  they  jndge  their  fellows  ; so  often,  we  may 
believe,  taken  into  the  great  account  when  the  angels 
receive  the  sinners  condemned  by  the  justice  of  the 
world.  Rastignac  opened  his  sister’s  letter,  and  its 
innocent,  tender  trustfulness  fell  like  balm  upon  his 
spirit : — 

Your  letter  came  just  at  the  right  moment,  dear  brother. 
Agathe  and  I had  debated  so  long  what  to  do  with  our  money, 
and  we  had  thought  of  so  many  ways  of  spending  it,  that  we 
could  not  decide  upon  anything.  You  are  like  the  servant  of  the 
King  of  Spain  when  he  threw  down  all  his  master’s  watches, 
— vou  have  made  us  agree.  Really  and  truly,  we  were  always 
disputing  which  of  our  fancies  we  should  follow  ] but,  dear 
Eugene,  we  never  thought  of  this,  which  exactly  suits  us  both. 
Agathe  jumped  for  joy.  In  fact,  we  were  all  day  in  such  high 


118 


Pere  Goriot. 


spirits  on  sufficient  grounds  (aunt’s  style)  that  mamma  put 
1 on  her  severe  manner  and  said,  Young  ladies,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ? ” If  she  had  scolded  us  a little  hit,  I do  be-, 
lieve  it  would  have  made  us  happier  still.  Surely  women  must 
enjoy  making  sacrifices  for  those  they  love.  But  I was  sad  in 
the  midst  of  my  joy.  I am  afraid  I shall  make  a bad  wife,  I 
am  so  extravagant.  I had  just  bought  myself  two  sashes,  and 
a stiletto  to  punch  eyelets  in  my  corsets,  — mere  foolishness  ! 
— and  so  I had  less  money  than  that  fat  Agathe,  who  is 
economical  and  hoards  her  five-franc  pieces  like  a magpie. 
She  had  two  hundred  francs;  while  I,  O dear  Eugene,  had 
only  a hundred  and  fifty!  I was  well  punished  for  my  extrava- 
gance. I wanted  to  fling  my  sash  into  the  well.  I know  I 
shall  never  have  any  pleasure  in  wearing  it  ; I shall  feel  as  if 
I had  stolen  it  from  you.  Agathe  was  so  kind:  she  said, 
Let  us  send  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  all  together.”  But  I 
feel  as  if  I must  tell  you  just  how  it  was.  Do  you  want  to 
know  how  we  managed  so  as  not  to  let  any  one  suspect  what 
we  were  doing  I — as  you  said  we  must  keep  the  secret.  W e 
took  our  precious  money  and  went  out  for  a walk.  When  we 
got  to  the  high-road  we  ran  as  fast  as  we  could  to  Kufiec. 
There  we  gave  all  the  money  to  Monsieur  Grriinbert  at  the 
Messageries- Boy  ales  coach  office.  We  flew  home  like  swal- 
lows, — so  fast  because  we  were  so  light-hearted,  Agathe 
said.  We  said  lots  of  things  to  each  other  which  I should  not 
like  to  repeat  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Parisien.  They  were  all 
about  you.  Oh  ! dear  brother,  we  love  you  — there  ! it  is  all 
in  those  three  words. 

As  for  keeping  the  secret,  naughty  little  girls,  as  aunt  calk 
us,  can  do  anything,  — even  keep  silent ! Mamma  went  to 
Angouleme  mysteriously  with  aunt  the  other  day,  and  they 
would  not  tell  us  a word  about  the  high  and  mighty  purposes 
of  the  expedition.  They  have  hold  long  private  conferences  ; ^ 
but  we  are  sent  out  of  the  room,  and  even  Monsieur  le  baron 
is  not  admitted.  Great  afiairs  occupy  all  minds  in  tlie  king- 


Pere  Goriot. 


119 


doni  of  Kastignac.  The  muslin  dress,  embroidered  in  satin- 
stitch  by  the  infantas  for  the  queen,  her  majesty,  is  getting  on, 
though  they  can  only  work  at  it  in  the  utmost  secresy.  There 
are  now  only  two  breadths  to  finish.  It  has  been  decided  to 
build  no  wall  toward  Yerteuil;  there  is  to  be  a hedge.  This 
will  deprive  the  natives  of  wall-fruit,  but  offers  dMine  view  to 
foreigners.  If  the  heir-presumptive  wants  any  handkerchiefs, 
he  is  hereby  informed  that  the  dowager-countess  de  Marcillac, 
turning  over  the  treasures  in  her  trunks  (excavations  in  Her- 
culaneum and  Pompeii),  came  upon  a lovely  piece  of  linen  cam- 
bric, which  she  did  not  know  she  had.  The  princesses  Laure 
and  Agathe  put  their  thread,  needles,  and  fingers  — the  latter, 
alas!  a little  too  red  — at  his  highness’s  orders.  The  two 
young  princes,  Don  Henri  and  Don  Grabriel,  keep  at  their  old 
tricks,  gorging  themselves  with  grapes,  worrying  their  sisters, 
learning  nothing,  bird’s-nesting,  making  a racket,  and  cut- 
ting, in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  State,  willow  twigs  for 
switches.  The  Pope’s  nuncio,  commonly  called  Monsieur  le 
cure,  threatens  to  excommunicate  them  if  the  sacred  canons 
of  grammar  are  neglected  for  popguns. 

Adieu,  dear  brother.  Never  did  a letter  carry  deeper  wishes 
for  your  happiness,  nor  so  much  grateful  love.  How  many 
things  you  will  have  to  tell  us  when  you  come  home  I You 
will  tell  me  all,  I know,  — I am  the  eldest.  Aunt  threw  out 
a mysterious  hint  of  success  in  the  great  world : 

A lady's  name  she  whispered,  — but,  hush ! for  all  the  rest,” 
a word  to  the  wise,  you  know,  — we  understand  each  other ! 

Tell  me,  Eugene,  would  you  like  shirts  instead  of  hand- 
kerchiefs? We  can  make  them  for  you.  Answer  this  at 
once.  If  you  want  some  fine  shirts,  very  nicely  made,  we 
must  set  to  work  immediately.  And  if  there  are  any  new 
ways  of  making  them  in  Paris  which  we  do  not  know  here, 
send  us  a pattern,  — particularly  for  the  cuffs.  Adieu,  adieu. 
I kiss  you  over  your  left  eyebrow,  for  that  spot  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  me.  I leave  the  other  page  for  Agathe,  who  has 


120 


Pere  Croriot. 


promised  not  to  look  at  what  I have  written  ; hut  to  make 
sure,  I shall  stay  behind  her  till  she  has  finished. 

Thy  sister  who  loves  thee, 

Laure  de  Eastignac. 

“ Oh,  yes ! ’•  cried  Eugene : “ yes  ! — fortune  at  any 
price!  No  treasures  could  repay  them  for  their  devo- 
tion. I will  shower  upon  them  every  happiness.  Fif- 
teen hundred  francs ! ’’  he  added,  after  a pause.  “ Every 
five-franc  piece  must  do  its  work.  Laure  is  right ; my 
shirts  are  all  too  coarse.  A young  girl  becomes  as  cun- 
ning as  a thief  when  she  plans  for  others.  Innocent 
herself,  far-sighted  for  me!  She  is  like  the  angels, 
who  forgive  the  human  faults  they  cannot  share.” 

The  world  was  all  before  him  ! Already  a tailor  had 
been  called,  sounded,  and  selected.  When  Eugene  first 
beheld  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  he  became  conscious  of 
the  enormous  infiuence  tailors  exert  over  the  lives  of 
young  men.  A man’s  tailor  must  be  either  his  mortal 
enemy  or  his  trusted  friend.  Eugene’s  choice  fell  upon 
a man  who  took  a fatherly  position  towards  his  patrons, 
and  considered  himself  a link  between  the  present  and 
the  future  of  young  men  who  aspired  to  get  on  in  the 
world.  Rastignac  showed  his  gratitude,  and  made  the 
man’s  fortune  by  one  of  those  clever  sayings  for  which 
he  became  celebrated  in  after  years.  “ I have  known 
him  make  two  pairs  of  trousers  which  made  two  mar 
riages  of  forty  thousand  francs  a year,”  he  said. 


Pere  Groriot 


121 


IX. 

Fifteen  hundred  francs  and  all  the  clothes  he  needed ! 
Our  ardent  son  of  the  south  flung  his  hesitations  to  the 
wind,  and  went  down  to  breakfast  with  that  indeflnable 
air  which  a youth  puts  on  when  he  is  conscious  of  pos- 
sessing money.  The  moment  that  a student  jingles 
coin  in  his  pocket  he  feels  that  he  is  leaning  on  a pillar 
of  strength.  His  step  becomes  assured ; his  lever  has  a 
fulcrum  to  work  on  \ he  looks  ahead  ; he  sees  his  way ; 
his  very  movements  grow  alert.  Yesterday,  timid  and 
despondent,  he  could  hardly  resent  an  injury;  to-day 
he  is  ready  to  offer  one  to  the  chief  of  state.  A curi- 
ous transformation  is  at  work  within  him.  He  wants 
all  things,  feels  himself  capable  of  all  things ; his  desires 
rush  forth  at  random  ; he  is  gay,  generous,  and  open- 
hearted,  — the  fledgling  has  found  his  wings.  As  a 
penniless  student  he  had  been  content  to  snatch  a scrap 
of  pleasure  as  a dog  steals  a bone,  cracks  it,  sucks  the 
marrow  furtively,  and  runs  away.  But  the  young  man 
who  rattles  money  in  his  breeches  pocket  can  afford  to 
linger  over  his  enjoyments;  he  can  suck  their  juice  at 
leisure;  he  floats  in  summer  air;  for  him  the  harsh 
word  poverty  no  longer  has  a meaning,  — all  Paris  be- 
longs to  him.  In  youth  how  these  things  glitter ! how 
they  sparkle  and  flame!  Age  of  glad  strength,  by 
which  few  profit,  either  men  or  women ; age  of  debts 


122  Pere  G-oriot, 

and  anxieties  which  enhance  the  joys!  He  who  has 
never  haunted  .the  left  bank  *of  the  Seine  between  the 
Rue  Saint-Jacques  and  the  Rue  des  Saint-Peres  knows 
little  of  the  comedy,  or  the  tragedy,  of  human  life. 

‘‘  Ah ! if  the  women  of  Paris  did  but  know  1 
thought  Eugene,  as  he  devoured  Madame  Vauquer’s 
baked  pears  at  a farthing  apiece,  ‘‘  they  would  want 
me  to  love  them.” 

At  this  moment  a messenger  from  the  Messageries- 
Royales  came  into  the  dining-room,  having  rung  at 
the  gate-bell.  He  asked  for  Monsieur  Eugene  de  Ras- 
tignac,  for  whom  he  brought  two  bags  of  silver  coin 
and  the  register  for  signature.  ' 

Vautrin  threw  a glance  round  Rastignac  as  keen  andj 
sharp  as  the  lash  of  a whip. 

“You  will  be  able  to  pay  for  your  fencing  lessons,” 
he  said,  “ and  your  pistols  too.” 

“ The  galleons  have  come  in,”  said  Madame  Vauquer, 
glancing  at  the  bags. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  dared  not  cast  her  eyes 
at  them,  fearing  to  show  her  covetousness. 

“ You  have  a good  mother,”  said  Madame  Couture. 

“ Monsieur  has  a good  mother,”  repeated  Poiret. 

“ Oh,  yes  ! Mamma  has  bled  herself,”  said  Vautrin, 
“ and  now  you  may  take  your  fling  if  you  like ; gb  into 
the  world  and  fish  for  dots,  or  dance  with  countesses 
and  peach-blossoms.  But  take  my  advice,  young  man, 
■ — stick  to  the  pistol-gallery.” 

Vautrin  put  himself  in  the  attitude  of  taking  aim  at 
an  adversary.  Rastignac  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a pour- 
boire  to  the  messenger,  but  found  nothing;  Vautrin 
put  his  hand  in  his,  and  flung  the  man  a franc. 


PeT6  Croviot.  123 

Your  credit  is  good,”  he  observed,  looking  at  the 
student. 

Rastignac  was  forced  to  thank  him,  although  since 
the  sharp  words  they  had  exchanged  after  his  first  visit 
to  Madame  de  Beauseant  the  man  had  become  intoler- 
able to  him.  For  a week  Eugene  and  Vautrin  had  not 
spoken,  and  each  had  silently  watched  the  other.  The 
student  in  vain  asked  himself  the  reason.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  ideas  strike  with  a force  proportionate  to  the 
vigor  of  their  conception  ; they  hit  the  mark  at  which 
they  are  aimed  by  some  such  mathematical  law  as  that 
which  guides  the  shell  when  it  leaves  the  mouth  of  the 
cannon.  The  effects  are  various.  There  are  tender 
natures  which  ideas  penetrate  and  blast  to  ashes  ; there 
are  vigorous  natures,  skulls  of  iron,  from  which  the 
thoughts  and  wills  of  other  men  glance  off  like  bullets 
flattened  as  they  strike  a wall ; others,  again,  are  soft 
and  cottony,  and  into  them  ideas  sink  dead,  like  can- 
non-balls that  bury  themselves  in  the  earth-works  of  a 
fortification. 

Rastignac’s  nature  was  a powder-flask  ready  to  ex- 
plode at  a touch.  He  had  too  much  youthful  vitality 
not  to  be  open  to  this  imposition  of  ideas,  — this  mag- 
netism of  mind  upon  mind,  whose  capricious  phenomena 
affect  us  on  all  sides  without  our  being  aware  of  it. 
His  moral  perceptions  were  as  clear  as  his  eyes,  keen 
as  those  of  a lynx.  Mentally  and  physically  he  had  i 
that  mysterious  power  to  take  and  give  impressions  at 
which  we  marvel  in  men  of  superior  calibre : skilful 
swordsmen  quick  to  know  the  weak  places  in  every 
breastplate.  During  the  past  month  Eugene’s  finer 
qualities  had  developed  in  common  with  his  defects* 


124 


Pere  Groriot. 


His  defects  were  nourished  by  his  entrance  into  the 
great  world,  and  by  some  slight  accomplishment  of  his 
'ambitious  dreams.  Among  his  finer  qualities  may  be 
"counted  that  southern  vivacity  of  spirit  which  compels 
a man  to  go  straight  at  a difficulty  and  master  it,  and 
will  not  suffer  him  to  be  baffied  by  uncertainty.  This 
quality  northern  people  regard  as  a defect.  To  their 
minds,  if  it  was  the  cause  of  Murat’s  rise,  it  was  also  the 
cause  of  his  death  : from  which  we  may  conclude  that 
when  a man  unites  the  trickery  of  the  north  to  the  au- 
dacity of  the  region  south  of  the  Loire,  he  has  reached 
perfection  and  may  aspire  to  be  king  of  Sweden.  Rns- 
tignac  could  not,  therefore,  long  remain  passive  under 
Vautrin’s  fire  without  making  up  his  mind  whether  the 
man  was  his  friend  or  his  enemy.  From  lime  to  time 
he  was  certain  that  this  strange  being  penetrated  his 
motives,  divined  his  passions,  and  read  his  heart ; hold- 
ing guard  at  the  same  time  over  his  own  secrets  with 
the  impassiveness  of  the  sphinx  who  sees  and  knowa 
all,  and  reveals  nothing.  His  pockets  being  now  full 
of  money,  Eugene  mutiniedo 

Do  me  the  favor  to  wait,”  ho  said  to  Vautrin,  who 
had  risen  to  leave  the  room  after  drinking  the  last 
drops  of  his  coffee. 

“ Why  ? ” asked  the  latter,  putting  on  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  picking  up  his  cane.  This  cane  was 
loaded  with  iron,  and  he  was  fond  of  twirling  it  about 
his  head  with  the  air  of  a man  who  thought  himself  a 
match  for  half-a-dozen  robbers. 

“ I wish  to  return  your  money,”  replied  Rastignac, 
unfastening  one  of  his  bags  and  counting  out  a hun- 
dred and  forty  francs  for  Madame  Vauquer.  “Short 


Pere  Goriot, 


125 


accounts  make  long  friends,”  he  said  to  the  widow. 
‘‘  Now  I have  paid  up  to  the  last  day  of  December 
Can  you  change  me  this  five-franc  piece  ?” 

Long  friends  make  short  accounts,”  echoed  Poiret, 
looking  at  Vautrin. 

Here  are  your  twenty  sous^^  said  Rastignac,  hold- 
ing out  a franc  to  the  sphinx  in  a wig. 

“ One  would  think  you  were  afraid  to  owe  me  any. 
thing,”  cried  Vautrin,  plunging  his  divining  glance  into 
the  very  soul  of  the  young  man,  and  giving  him  one  of 
those  mocking  Diogenistic  smiles  which  Eugene  had 
again  and  again  been  on  the  point  of  resenting. 

W ell  — yes,”  said  the  student,  lifting  his  bags  and 
preparing  to  go  upstairs. 

Vautrin  went  out  of  the  door  that  led  into  the  salon  / 
the  student  passed  through  that  leading  to  the  staircase. 

Do  you  know,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Rastignaco- 
rama,  that  what  you  said  to  me  just  now  was  not  ex- 
actly  polite?”  said  Vautrin,  coming  through  the  door 
leading  from  the  salon  into  the  passage,  and  speaking 
to  the  student,  who  looked  at  him  coolly. 

Rastignac  shut  the  dining-room  door,,  and  drew  Vau- 
trin to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  in  the  little  square 
space  that  separated  the  dining-room  from  the  kitchen. 
In  this  passage  there  was  a glass  door  opening  upon 
the  garden,  the  glass  of  which  was  protected  by  iron 
bars.  There  the  student  said,  before  Sylvie,  who  was 
coming  out  of  her  kitchen,  — 

^'‘Monsieur  Vautrin,  I am  not  a marquis,  and  my 
name  is  not  Rastignacorama.” 

“ They  are  going  to  fight,”  said  Mademoiselle  Mi 
chonneau  in  a tone  of  indifference. 


126 


P^re  Goriot, 


“ Fight  a duel,”  repeated  Poiret. 

“Oh,  no,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  fingering  her  pile  j 
of  five-franc  pieces. 

“ Oh,  see ! They  have  gone  down  under  the  lin- 1 
dens,”  cried  Mademoiselle  Victorine,  getting  up  and 
looking  into  the  garden.  And  he  was  in  the  right  — 
that  poor  young  man  ! ” 

“ Let  us  go  to  our  rooms,  my  dearest,”  said  Madame 
Couture,  ‘Hhese  things  do  not  concern  us.” 

As  Madame  Couture  and  Victorine  turned  to  leave 
the  room  they  met  Sylvie  in  the  doorway,  who  barred 
their  passage. 

What ’s  the  matter  ? ” she  cried.  “ Monsieur  V autrin 
said  to  Monsieur  Eugene,  ‘ Let  us  have  an  explanation,’ 
and  he  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  there  they  are,  tramp- 
ling down  our  artichokes.” 

At  this  moment  Vautrin  re-appeared.  “Madame 
Vauquer,”  he  said,  smiling,  “don’t  be  afraid;  I am 
going  to  try  my  pistols  under  the  trees  yonder.” 

“ Oh  ! Monsieur,”  cried  Victorine,  clasping  her  hands, 
“ why  do  you  wish  to  kill  Monsieur  Eugene  ?” 

Vautrin  made  a step  backward  and  looked  at  her. 

“ Oh ! ho ! — a new  story,”  he  cried,  with  an  amused  air 
which  brought  a blush  to  her  pale  cheek.  “ He  is  very 
nice,  is  n’t  he?  A charming  young  man  ! You  have  given 
me  an  idea.  I ’ll  make  you  both  happy,  my  little  girl.” 

Madame  Couture  had  taken  her  charge  by  the  arm 
and  now  drew  her  away  hastily,  saying  in  an  under- 
tone, “ Victorine  ! what  has  come  over  you  to-day  ? ” 

“I  beg  you  will  fire  no  pistols  in  my  garden,”  said 
Madame  Vauquer.  “ Don’t  go  and  frighten  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  bring  the  police  upon  us.” 


Fere  Groriot. 


127 


‘‘  Oh,  keep  cairn,  Mamma  Vauquer,”  replied  Vautrin. 

« There,  there  — it ’s  all  right.  We  will  go  to  the 

pistol-gallery.”  _ ^ , 

He  went  back  to  Rastignac  and  took  him  familiarly 
by  the  arm : “ If  I prove  to  you  that  at  thirty-six  paces 
I can  put  a bullet  five  times  through  the  ace  of  spades, 
it  won’t  take  away  your  courage.  You  look  to  me 
like  a man  who  would  balk  at  nothing  when  his  blood 
was  up,  and  get  himself  killed  as  soon  as  not  — like  a 
simpleton.” 

“ You  wish  to  back  out  of  it,”  said  Eugene. 

“ Don’t  provoke  me,”  replied  V autrin.  “ Come  and 
sit  down  yonder,”  he  added,  pointing  to  the  benches 
painted  green ; “ it  is  not  cold,  and  nobody  can  over- 
hear us  there.  You  are  a good  fellow,  to  whom  1 wish 
no  harm.  I like  you,  on  the  honor  of  Tromp  — thunder . 
— honor  of  Vautrin  ; and  I ’ll  tell  you  why  I like  you. 
In  the  first  place,  I know  you  inside  and  out,  just  as 
well  as  if  I had  made  you  ; and  I will  prove  it  to  you. 
Put  your  bags  down  there,”  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
round  table. 

Rastignac  put  his  money  on  the  table  and  sat  down, 
devoured  by  curiosity  as  to  this  sudden  change  in  a 
man  who  having  just  proposed  to  kill  him,  now  as- 

sumed  to  be  his  protector. 

“ You  want  to  know  who  I am,  what  I have  done, 
and  what  I am  doing,”  resumed  Vautrin.  “ You  are  too 
inquisitive,  young  man  — stop,  stop ! be  calm ! you  have 
mord  of  that  to  hear.  I have  had  misfortunes.  Listen 
to  me  first ; you  can  talk  afterwards.  Here  is  my  past 
life  in  three  words  : Who  am  I ? Vautrin.  — What  do 
I do  ? Just  what  I please  — Pass  on.  Do  you  want  to 


128 


P^re  GiorioL 


know  my  character  ? Good  to  those  who  are  good  to 
me;  whose  heart  answers  to  mine.  From  them  I’ll 
take  anything.  They  may  kick  me  on  the  shins  if 
they  like,  I won’t  even  say,  ‘ Take  care ! ’ But,  nom 
d'une  pipe^  I ’m  as  wicked  as  the  devil  to  those  who 
annoy  me,  or  those  I don’t  like.  It  is  as  well  to  let 
you  know  at  once  that  I don’t  mind  killing  a man  any 
more  than  — that ! [spitting  before  him.]  Only,  I en- 
deavor to  kill  him  properly,  and  when  it  can’t  be  helped. 
I am  what  you  may  call  an  artist.  I have  read  the 
memoirs  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  — and  read  them  in 
Italian  too,  which  may  surprise  you.  1 learned  from 
that  man  — bold,  determined  fellow  that  he  was  ! — to 
imitate  the  ways  of  Providence,  who  kills  at  random, 
and  to  love  the  beautiful  wherever  I see  it.  And,  after 
all,  is  n’t  it  a fine  thing  to  stand  single-handed  against ' 
the  world,  with  the  luck  on  our  side  ? 

I have  reflected  deeply  on  the  forces  that  govern 
your  social  order  — or  disorder.  My  lad,  duels  are 
child’s  play,  — absurdities.  When  in  the  course  of 
human  events  one  of  two  living  men  has  to  disappear, 
they  must  be  idiots  to  leave  anything  to  chance.  A 
duel ! heads  or  tails  ! — that ’s  what  it  is.  I can  put 
five  balls  running  through  the  same  hole  in  the  ace  of 
spades,  — and  at  thirty-six  paces,  to  boot.  When  any 
one  is  gifted  with  that  little  talent,  he  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  certain  of  killing  his  man.  Well,  for  all 
that,  I ’ve  fired  at  a man  at  twenty  paces,  and  missed 
him  ; and  the  scoundrel  had  never  pulled  a trigger  in 
his  life  ! See,”  he  continued,  opening  his  shirt  and 
showing  a breast  as  shaggy  as  a bear’s  back,  with  long 
hair  like  the  mane  of  a wild  animal,  which  caused  a 


Pere  Goriot. 


129 


sickening  sensation  of  fear  and  repulsion ; that  green- 
horn scorched  me/’  he  added,  catching  Rastignac’s 
hand  and  putting  his  finger  into  the  scar. 

But  in  those  days  I was  a youngster  ] only  twenty- 
one,  — just  your  age ; and  I still  believed  in  something, 
— woman’s  love,  for  instance,  and  a heap  of  nonsense 
into  which  you  are  just  plunging.  We  might  have 
fought,  and  you  might  have  killed  me,  just  now. 
Suppose  I was  underground,  where  would  you  be? 
Obliged  to  fly  to  Switzerland  and  live  on  papa’s 
money,  — only  he  hasn’t  got  any.  Now,  I am  going 
to  put  before  you  the  position  in  which  you  stand  ; 
and  I shall  do  it  with  the  authority  of  a man  who  has 
looked  into  things  in  this  lower  world,  and  knows  that 
there  are  but  two  paths  open  to  us,  — blind  obedience 
or  revolt.  I don’t  obey,  — take  that  for  granted.  Now, 
do  you  know  what  you  need,  at  the  pace  you  are 
going?  A million  of  francs,  immediately.  If  you 
don’t  get  them,  with  your  excitable  temperament 
you’ll  be  wandering  with  your  feet  in  the  nets  at 
Saint-Cloud  and  your  head  in  the  air  looking  for  the 
Supreme  Being,  before  long.  I ’ll  give  you  your 
million.” 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Eugene. 

“Ha,  ha!  We  are  getting  friendly  to  Papa  Vau- 
trin.  When  he  offers  us  a million,  we  are  like  a young 
girl  to  whom  the  lover  says,  ^ To-night,’  and  she  begins 
to  prink  like  a little  cat  licking  her  fur  when  she  has 
lapped  her  milk.  All  right!  Well,  then,  between 
ourselves,  this  is  how  it  is  with  you,  young  man. 
Down  yonder  in  the  country  there ’s  papa  and  mamma, 
and  our  great-aunt,  and  two  sisters  (seventeen  and 

9 


130 


Pere  Goriot. 


eighteen  years  of  age),  and  two  little  brothers  (ten 
and  fifteen).  There ’s  the  whole  ship’s  company.  The 
aunt  teaches  the  sisters,  the  cure  imparts  Latin  to  the 
boys.  The  family  eat  more  boiled  chestnuts  than 
wheat  bread  ; papa  tries  not  to  wear  out  his  breeches  ; 
mamma  can  hardly  buy  herself  a new  gown  summer  or 
winter ; the  sisters  get  along  as  they  can.  I know  it 
all, — I’ve  lived  in  the  south  of  France.  Somehow 
they  manage  to  send  you  twelve  hundred  francs  a I 
year,  though  the  property  only  brings  in  three  thou- 
sand. We  keep  a cook  and  a man-servant  for  the 
sake  of  appearances  : papa  is  a baron,  you  know.  As 
for  ourself,  we  are  ambitious.  We  have  the  Beauseants 
for  allies ; but  we  have  to  go  afoot,  which  does  not  | 
please  us.  We  want  a fortune,  and  we  haven’t  a souJ 
We  eat  Mamma  Vauquer’s  messes,  but  we  long  foi*^ 
the  feasts  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  We  sleep 
on  a pallet,  but  we  dream  of  a mansion.  I don’t  blame 
you.  You  are  ambitious.  It  is  not  every  one,  my 
brave  boy,  who  is  blessed  with  ambition.  Ask  women 
what  sort  of  men  they  like  best,  — ambitious  men. 
Their  blood  has  more  iron  in  it,  their  hearts  are 
warmer. 

“ I ’ve  summed  up  your  wants  as  a preface  to  a 
question.  Here  it  is.  We  are  as  hungry  as  a wolf ; 
our  milk-teeth  are  very  sharp  ; how  are  we  going  to 
fill  the  pot  ? Shall  we  stay  our  appetite  on  law  ? 
Studying  law  is  dull  work ; and,  besides,  it  teaches 
nothing.  However,  call  it  the  best  we  can  do,  — for 
we  must  do  something.  So  be  it,  then.  Well,  we 
graduate  ; and  by  and  by  we  get  an  appointment  as 
judge  in  some  petty  criminal  court,  and  send  off  poor 


Pire  Q-oriot. 


131 


devils  better  than  ourselves  with  T F branded  on 
their  shoulders,  that  rich  men  may  sleep  in  peace. 
Small  fun  in  that ! and  besides,  it  is  long  in  coming. 
In  the  first  place,  two  years  of  weary  waiting,  — look- 
ing at  the  sugarplums  we  long  for,  but  cannot  have. 
It  is  hard  to  be  always  craving,  never  getting  what  we 
want.  If  you  were  a poor,  pale  mollusk  of  a man, 
there  would  be  nothing  to  fear ; but,  no ! we  have  the 
blood  of  a lion  in  our  veins,  and  the  capacity  for  com- 
mitting twenty  follies  a day.  You  will  never  bear  the 
trial ; you  will  sink  under  it ; it  is  the  worst  torture 
that  we  have  yet  heard  of  in  the  hell  of  a good  God. 
But  suppose  you  are  irreproachable,  — that  you  drink 
milk  and  write  hymns.  After  all  your  privations,  — 
enough  to  drive  a dog  mad,  not  to  speak  of  a geneious 
young  fellow  like  you,  — you  will  have  to  begin  by  tak- 
ing another  man’s  place  in  some  hole  of  a town  where 
the  Government  will  pay  you  a thousand  francs  a year, 
just  as  they  fling  a bone  to  the  watch-dog.  Bark  at 
the  robbers,  win  the  cause  of  the  rich,  and  send  to  the 
guillotine  men  of  heart  and  pluck  ? — No,  thank  you ! 
If  you  have  no  one  to  push  your  fortunes,  you  will  rot 
in  your  petty  judgeship.  When  you  are  thirty  you 
will  be  promoted  to  twelve  hundred  francs  per  an- 
num, — unless  by  that  time  you  have  flung  your 
gown  to  the  nettles.  At  forty  you  will  marry  a mil- 
ler’s daughter,  with  six  thousand  francs  a year  for 
her  portion. 

“To  all  this  you  say.  Never!  Well,  if  you  have 
influence  you  may  possibly  at  thirty  get  to  be  pro- 
cureur  du  roi,  with  a beggarly  stipend  of  five  thousand 
francs  a year,  and  marry  the  mayor’s  daughter.  If 


132 


Pere  Groriot. 


you  have  the  luck  to  do  any  little  meanness  for  the 
Government,  — such  as  reading  the  name  of  VilMe 
from  the  register,  instead  of  Manuel,  — you  may  at 
forty  become  procureur-general^  and  rise  to  be  a dep- 
uty. But  take  notice,  my  young  friend,  that  by  this 
time  we  shall  have  torn  some  big  rents  in  our  con- 
science ; we  shall  have  had  twenty  years  of  weary 
waiting  and  bitter  poverty,  and  by  that  time  the 
sisters  auront  coijfe  Saint- Catherine^  and  will  have 
turned  into  old  maids.  I have  also  the  honor  to 
point  out  to  you  that  there  are  only  twenty  procu- 
reurs-generaux  in  France ; and  that  twenty  thou- 
sand young  aspirants  are  standing  in  line,  among 
whom  you  will  find  fellows  who  would  sell  their 
own  families  to  advance  a step. 

If  this  prospect  seems  unpleasant,  let  us  turn  to 
something  else.  Would  the  Baron  de  Rastignac  like 
to  become  an  avocat  — a barrister?  Deliofhtful  ! In 
that  case  he  will  earn  nothing  for  ten  yeai's,  spend  a 
thousand  francs  a month,  need  a law-library  and  an 
office,  kiss  the  robe  of  an  attorney  to  get  briefs,  and 
lick  up  the  law  courts  with  his  tongue.  If  all  this 
would  lead  to  anything  it  might  be  very  well.  But 
find  me  six  barristers  in  Paris  who  at  fifty  years  of 
age  earn  fifty  thousand  francs  a year.  Bah!  sooner 
than  belittle  my  soul  like  that  I’d  take  to  piracy. 
Well,  then,  how  else  can  we  make  money?  These 
prospects  are  certainly  not  brilliant.  There ’s  another 
resource;  and  that’s  a wife’s  fortune.  But  if  you 
marry,  you  tie  a stone  round  your  neck  for  life  ; and 
if  you  marry  for  money,  what  becomes  of  our  fine  sen- 
timents about  noblesse  and  honor  ? You  might  as  well 


Pere  Groriot. 


133 


not  put  off  your  revolt  against  the  conventional  ideas 
of  humanity.  To  make  such  a marriage  you  would 
have  to  wriggle  like  a snake  at  some  woman’s  feet,  and 
lick  her  mother’s  shoes,  and  humiliate  yourself  to  things 
that  would  disgust  a pig  — pah ! And,  after  all,  you 
need  n’t  expect  happiness.  You  would  wear  out  like 
the  stones  of  a drain  through  continual  dropping,  if  you 
married  a wife  in  this  way.  Better  fight  with  men 
than  try  your  strength  against  a woman.  Here  you 
are,  young  man,  at  the  cross-roads  of  your  life.  Choose 
your  path.  You  have  chosen?  You  have  been  to  see 
our  cousin  de  Beauseant,  and  you  have  breathed  the 
atmosphere  of  luxury.  You  have  been  to  visit  Madame 
de  Restaud,  daughter  of  Pere  Goriot,  and  you  have 
scented  the  Parisienne.  You  came  home  from  those 
visits  with  a word  written  on  your  forehead.  I read 
it,  — it  was  success  ! — success  at  any  price.  Bravo ! 
I said,  that ’s  the  fellow  to  suit  me.  You  wanted 
money.  You  cast  about  to  see  how  you  might  get 
it.  You  bled  your  sisters  ; all  brothers  sponge  more 
or  less  upon  their  sisters.  And  now  that  you  have 
got  your  fifteen  hundred  francs,  squeezed  — Heaven 
knows. how!  — out  of  a land  where  chestnuts  are  more 
plentiful  than  five-franc  pieces,  you  will  find  them  dis- 
appear like  soldiers  on  a forage. 

“ What  next  ? Will  you  set  to  work  again  ? The 
sort  of  work  that  you  call  work  at  present  leads  in  old 
age  to  a bed-room  in  a pension  like  Madame  Vauquer’s, 
fit  for  chaps  like  Poiret.  At  this  very  moment  fifty 
thousand  young  men,  situated  just  as  you  are,  are  re- 
volving in  their  minds  how  to  make  a rapid  fortune. 
You  are  a unit  among  fifty  thousand.  Make  your 


134 


Pere  Croriot. 


estimate  of  the  chances  and  the  fierceness  of  the  fight 
before  you.  The  fifty  thousand  will  have  to  eat  each 
other  up,  like  spiders  in  a jug;  for  of  course  there 
are  not  fifty  thousand  good  positions,  — one  apiece  all 
round  ! Do  you  know  how  to  win  a first  place  in  the 
struggle  ? I will  tell  you.  By  the  highest  genius,  or 
the  lowest  corruption.  You  must  either  rend  a way 
for  yourself  through  the  crowd  like  a cannon-ball,  or 
you  must  creep  through  it  silently  like  a pestilence. 
Honesty  and  uprightness  won’t  help  you.  People 
bend  beneath  the  power  of  genius,  but  they  hate  it. 
Genius  is  c.alumniated  because  it  takes  what  it  can  get 
and  never  shares  its  takings ; but  the  world  bows 
before  its  strength.  In  other  words,  the  world  wor- 
ships on  its  knees  those  whom  it  cannot  smother  in 
the  mud.  Corruption  is  also  strength.  Genius  is 
rare.  It  follows  that  corruption  is  the  resource__of 
the  great  commonplace  majority ; and  you  will  find 
it  everywhere.  You  will  see  women  whose  husbands 
pay  is  six  thousand  francs  at  most,  spending  ten  thou- 
sand upon  their  toilettes.  You  will  see  employes  who 
have  a salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs  acquiring 
landed  property.  You  will  see  women  prostituting 
themselves  to  drive  to  Longchamps  in  the  carriage 
of  the  son  of  a peer  of  France  which  has  a right  to 
the  middle  highway.  You  have  seen  that  poor  fool 
of  a Pere  Goriot  obliged  to  pay  the  note  indorsed 
by  his  daughter,  whose  husband  has  sixty  thousand 
francs  per  annum.  I defy  you  to  walk  two  steps  in 
Paris  without  stumbling  on  some  infernal  perfidy. 
I ’d  bet  my  head  to  one  of  those  old  salad  stumps 
that  you  will  stick  your  nose  into  a wasp’s-nest  the 


Pere  Goriot. 


135 


rst  time  you  fall  in  love  with  any  woman,  no  mat- 
jr  how  wealthy,  or  young,  or  handsome  she  may  be. 
dl  women  of  fashion  walk  in  crooked  ways ; all  are 
t variance  with  their  husbands.  If  I were  to  tell 
ou  what  things  are  done  for  lovers  and  for  frippery, 
)r  children  and  for  show,  and  above  all  for  vanity,  I 
lould  never  have  done.  Not  much  that  is  virtuous 
ou  may  be  sure.  An  honest  man  is  deemed  a com- 
ion  enemy.  But  where  can  we  find  an  honest  man  ? 
n Paris,  honor  and  honesty  consist  in  refusing  to  go 
tiares,  and  holding  one’s  tongue.  I am  not  speaking 
ow  of  those  poor  Helots  who  stick  to  honesty  and 
irtue  without  expecting  any  recompense  for  their 
ibors  in  this  world,  — the  Brotherhood  of  the  Old 
Ihoes  of  the  Good  Lord,  I call  them.  Of  course  they 
re  the  fiower  of  virtuous  foolishness,  but  they  are 
Iways  poor.  I can  imagine  the  blank  faces  of  that 
aintly  crowd  if  Heaven  were  to  play  us  such  a joke 
s to  omit  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

“ Now,  it  follows  that  if  you  wish  to  get  on  quickly 
'OU  must  either  be  rich  or  make  believe  to  be  so.  To 
;row  rich  you  must  play  a strong  game,  — not  a trum- 
)ery  cautious  one  ; no  ! no  ! If  in  the  hundred  profes- 
ions  a man  can  choose  from  he  makes  a rapid  fortune, 
he  world  says  he  must  have  done  it  dishonestly. 
Draw  your  own  conclusions.  Such  is  life.  It  is  no 
letter  than  a kitchen  full  of  bad  smells.  If  you  have 
ish  to  fry,  you  must  soil  your  hands  in  frying  them ; 
inly  be  sure  to  wash  them  when  you  have  done  your 
lookery.  That  is  the  moral  of  the  times  we  live  in. 
’ own  that  in  speaking  to  you  thus  I know  myself  to 
lave  wrongs  to  avenge  upon  society.  Do  you  think  I 


136 


Pire  Qoriot. 


blame  it  for  its  enmity  to  me?  Not  at  all;  it  is  nat- 
ural. Moralists  will  make  no  radical  changes,  depend 
upon  it,  in  the  morality  of  the  great  world.  Human 
nature  is  imperfect.  Every  man  is  a hypocrite,  and  ac 
cording  as  he  is  more  or  less  of  one  fools  will  cry  oul 
that  he  is  better  or  worse.  I don’t  say  that  the  rich 
are  any  worse  than  the  poor.  Man  is  the  same  at  the 
tcrp  or  at  the  bottom  or  in  the  middle  of  society.  You  ’1 
find  ten  bold  fellows  in  every  million  of  such  cattle  whe 
dare  to  set  things  at  defiance  — including  your  laws 
I am  one  of  them.  If  you  feel  yourself  to  be  a man 
superior  to  other  men,  you  may  walk  a straight  line 
possibly  and  hold  your  head  high.  But  you  will  have 
to  struggle  with  envy,  calumny,  and  mediocrity,  in 
short,  against  the  world.  Napoleon  came  near  being 
sent  off  to  the  colonies  by  a minister  of  war  named 
Aubry.  Put  yourself  to  the  proof, — -see  if  you  car 
get  up  every  morning  with  more  energy  than  you  fell 
the  day  before.  There ’s  a test. 

“Now,  in  view  of  all  these  circumstances,  I au 
going  to  make  you  a proposition  that  I think  no  mar 
in  your  position  should  refuse.  Listen ! I mysel: 
cherish  an  ideal.  My  ideal  existence  is  that  of  a patri 
arch  dwelling  upon  a vast  estate  — say  a hundrei 
thousand  acres  — in  one  of  the  Southern  States  o 
North  America.  I should  like  to  be  a planter,  to  owt 
slaves,  and  amass  a few  millions  by  selling  my  cattle 
my  tobacco,  and  timber.  There,  living  like  a king 
with  every  creature  round  me  subject  to  my  will,  1 
should  lead  a sort  of  life  not  conceived  of  in  this 
country,  where  people  crowd  themselves  in  streets  o: 
stucco.  I am  a poet,  — only  my  poems  are  not  mad< 


P^re  Groriot. 


137 


n verse;  they  have  their  rise  in  sentiment,  and  1 
,urn  them  into  action.  I possess  at  this  moment  about 
ifty  thousand  francs,  which  would  barely  buy  me 
orty  negroes.  I want  two  hundred  thousand  francs, 
jecause  I need  two  hundred  negroes  to  cany  out 
ny  dreams  of  patriarchal  existence.  You  see,  negroes 
ire  ready-made  children  ; you  may  do  whatever  you 
Dlease  with  them,  without  any  inquisitive  procureur 
lu  roi  pouncing  down  upon  you  with  questions. 
With  this  blank  capital,  in  ten  years  I should  make 
jhree  or  four  millions.  If  I succeed,  no  man  will 
isk  ‘Who  are  you?’  I shall  be  Monsieur  Quatre- 
Millions,  citizen  of  the  United  States.  I shall  be 
Sfty  by  that  time,  — still  in  my  prime,  and  eager  to 
imuse  myself.  In  two  words, — if  I get  you  a dot 
af  a million,  will  you  give  me  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  ? Twenty  per  cent  commission,  — hein  f — is 
that  too  dear?  You  will  win  the  affection  of  your 
little  wife.  When  you  have  been  married  a few 
weeks  you  can  let  her  see  that  you  have  something 
on  your  mind ; you  can  seem  disquieted,  uneasy. 
Then,  some  night,  between  two  kisses,  you  can  own 
that  you  are  in  debt, — --two  hundred  thousand  fiancs 
— in  debt,  darling!  This  farce  is  acted  every  day,  by 
young  men  of  good  family.  No  young  wife  will  refuse 
her  money  to  the  man  she  loves.  Do  you  think  you 
will  be  the  poorer?  Not  at  all.  You  can  easily  get 
back  your  two  hundred  thousand  francs  in  a good 
speculation.  With  your  money  and  your  enterprise, 
you  will  make  as  large  a fortune  as  heart  could  wish. 
Ergo,  in  six  months  I shall  have  made  your  happiness 
and  that  of  a sweet  little  wife.  And  happiest  of  all 


138 


Pere  Goriot, 


will  be  Papa  Vautrin;  to  say  nothing  of  your  own 
family,  who  are  now  blowing  their  fingers  to  keep 
warm,  for  lack  of  fire-wood.  You  need  not  be  aston- 
ished at  what  I ofier,  nor  at  what  I ask.  Out  of  sixty 
good  matches  made  in  Paris,  forty-seven  owe  their 
origin  to  a similar  understanding.  The  Chambre  des 
Notaires  obliged  Monsieur  — ” 

‘‘  But  what  is  there  to  be  done  on  my  part  ? ” asked 
Eugene,  eagerly  interrupting  Vautrin. 

“ Almost  nothing,”  replied  the  other,  letting  a sound 
escape  him  like  the  click  of  satisfaction  given  by  an 
angler  when  he  feels  the  fish  at  the  end  of  his  line. 
‘‘  Listen.  The  heart  of  a young  girl  used  to  neglect 
and  poverty  is  a sponge  ready  to  absorb  any  affection 
offered  to  her,  — a dry  sponge,  which  begins  to  swell 
as  soon  as  a drop  of  love  falls  upon  it.  To  make  love 
to  a young  girl  under  such  circumstances,  — a poor, 
lonely,  and  dispirited  girl,  a girl  who  knows  nothing  of 
the  prospect  of  great  wealth  that  is  in  store  for  her,  — 
damn  it!  it  is  like  holding  quinte  and  quatorze  at 
piquet ; it  is  like  putting  into  a lottery  when  you  know 
the  numbers ; it  is  like  buying  into  the  funds  when 
you  ^^e  found  out  the  secrets  of  diplomacy.  You  are 
building  on  a sure  foundation.  If  the  young  girl 
inherits  millions,  she  will  pour  them  at  your  feet  as  if 
they  were  pebble-stones.  She  will  say,  ‘ Ah ! take 
them,  dearest ! Take  them,  Alfred,  Adolphe,  Eugene  ! ’ 
— especially  if  Adolphe,  Alfred,  or  Eugene  have  had 
the  sense  to  make  sacrifices  for  her.  By  sacrifices  I 
mean  such  as  selling  an  old  coat  that  he  and  she  may 
go  together  to  the  Cadran-Bleu  and  eat  mushroom 
toast,  or  to  the  Ambigu-Comique,  — or  else  pawning 


Pere  GrorioU 


139 


yoar  watch  to  buy  her  a new  shawl.  I say  nothing 
about  love-scribbling,  and  all  the  stuff  and  nonsense 
Tvornen  make  so  much  of, — such  as  sprinkling  water 
on  your  letter  to  make  it  look  like  tears,  when  you  are 
parted  from  her.  I fancy  you  know  all  that  argot  of 
the  heart  well  enough  already.  Paris  is  like  a forest 
peopled  by  twenty  different  tribes  of  red  Indians,  — 
Iroquois,  Hurons,  and  the  like,  — who  all  live  by  hunt- 
ing the  prosperous  classes.  You  are  bent  on  bagging 
millions.  Your  trapping  will  require  snares,  decoys, 
and  bird-lime.  There  are  many  ways  of  going  after 
that  kind  of  game.  Some  hunt  for  dots  ; others  grow 
rich  by  bankruptcy ; others  angle  for  consciences,  and 
sell  their  victims  bound  hand  and  foot.  He  who  comes 
home  with  a good  bag  is  congratulated,  feted,  and  re- 
ceived in  good  society.  Let  us  do  justice  to  the  hos- 
pitality of  Paris ; it  is  the  easiest  city  to  get  on  in  in 
the  world.  Though  the  proud  aristocracy  of  every 
other  capital  in  Europe  may  decline  to  countenance  a 
rascally  millionnaire,  Paris  will  open  her  arms  to  him, 
rush  to  his  parties,  eat  his  dinners,  and  hob-nob  with 
him  and  his  infamy.’’ 

But  where  can  I find  such  a girl  ? ” said  Eugene. 

“ She  is  here  ; close  at  hand.” 

Mademoiselle  Victorine  ? ” 

‘‘  Precisely.” 

“ But  how  can  that  be  ? ” 

She  loves  you  already,  — your  little  Baronne  de 
Rastignac.” 

“ She  has  not  a sou ! ” cried  Eugene  in  amazement. 

Ah  ! now  we  are  coming  to  the  point.  Two  words 
more,”  said  Vautrin,  ‘‘and  then  you  will  understand 


140 


PSre  Goriot. 


me.  Papa  Taillefer  is  an  old  rascal,  who  is  said  to 
have  murdered  his  best  friend  during  the  Revolution. 
He  is  one  of  those  fellows  I spoke  of,  who  are  not  tied 
down  by  scruples  or  conventionalities.  He  is  a banker, 
— head  of  the  house  of  Frederic  Taillefer  & Co.  He 
lias  one  son,  to  whom  he  intends  to  leave  his  whole 
fortune  and  disinherit  Victorine.  I object  to  such  in- 
justice. I am  like  Don  Quixote,  — I delight  in  taking 
the  part  of  the  weak  against  the  strong.  If  it  pleased] 
a wise  Providence  to  kill  his  son,  old  Taillefer  would 
take  back  his  daughter.  He  would  want  some  kind 
of  an  heir,  for  that  is  a folly  common  to  human  nar 
ture ; and  he  won’t  have  any  more  children,  I know. 
Victorine  is  pretty  and  amiable;  she  will  soon  work 
her  way  into  his  favor,  and  spin  him  round  like  a 
whipping  top  ; her  whip  will  be  the  liking  he  will  take 
for  her.  She  will  be  too  grateful  to  you  for  loving  her 
when  she  was  poor  to  throw  you  over  when  she  is  rich, 
and  you  will  marry  her.  Well,  I take  upon  myself 
the  duty  of  a wise  Providence,  — I will  play  the  part 
of  Destiny.  I have  a friend  for  whom  I have  done 
ninch,  very  much,  — a colonel  in  the  army  of  the 
Loire,  who  has  lately  come  to  Paris  to  enter  the 
Garde  Royale.  He  has  taken  my  advice  and  become 
.‘ill  ultra-royalist : he  is  not  one  of  those  fools  who 
stick  to  their  opinions.  I may  as  well  give  you  an- 
other bit  of  advice,  my  friend.  Don’t  keep  your  opin- 
ions any  more  than  your  promises.  When  people 
need  them,  sell  them.  When  a man  boasts  that  he 
holds  fast  to  one  opinion,  he  pledges  himself  to  walk  a 
straight  line,  and  is  one  of  those  ninnies  who  believe 
in  infallibility.  There  are  no  such  things  as  principles, 


Pere  Groriot. 


141 


-there  are  events.  Neither  are  there  laws,  — only 
ircumstances.  A wise  man  grasps  circumstances  and 
vents,  and  guides  them.  If  there  were  essential  prin- 
iples  or  fundamental  laws,  the  populations  could  not 
hange  them,  as  they  now  change  them,  like  a shirt. 

, man  is  not  bound  to  be  wiser  than  his  gener.ation. 
'he  man  of  all  others  whose  political  career  has  been 
f least  service  to  France  is  now  an  ancient  fetich, 
dored  because  he  was  a red  republican.  He  is  good 
Dr  nothing,  now,  but  to  be  shelved  in  a IHuseum  and 
icketed  La  Fayette;  while  Talleyrand,  at  whom 
verybody  casts  a stone,  and  who  despises  mankind  so 
ttei-ly  that  he  will  spit  back  into  the  world’s  face  any 
romises  it  may  require  of  him,  hindered  the  dismem- 
erment  of  France  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna.  He 
ught  to  be  honored  with  crowns ; but  the  world  flings 
lud  at  him.  Oh,  I know  how  things  work  ! I have 
iiany  a man’s  secret  in  my  keeping.  Enough  of  this, 
shall  begin  to  hold  flxed  opinions  on  the  day  when 
find  any  three  men  agreeing  on  the  practical  applica- 
Lon  of  a principle.  I expect  to  wait  a good  while, 
fou  can’t  find  three  judges  in  accord  on  a question 
f law.  To  come  back  to  my  man.  He  would  sell 
,is  soul  — it  belongs  to  me  — if  I asked  him.  If 
hrpa  Vautrin  speaks  the  word,  he  will  pick  a quarrel 
rith  that  young  blackguard  who  never  sends  a five- 
ranc  piece  to  his  poor  sister,  and  then  ■ ” 

Here  Vautrin  rose,  put  himself  on  guard,  and  made 
, pass  as  if  with  a sword  — “ To  the  shades ! ” he 
dded. 

“ Monstrous ! ” cried  Eugene ; “ you  must  be  jokingi 
lonsieur  Vautrin.” 


142 


Pere  Goriot, 


There,  there,  keep  calm  ! ” replied  the  other,  “ don’ 
be  a baby.  Still,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good,  get  angr|^ 
furious ; tell  me  I am  a wretch,  a villain,  a scoundrel 
a robber,  — anything  you  like,  except  cheat  or  spy 
Go  on  ; speak ; fire  your  broadside,  — I ’ll  forgive  you 
It  is  natural  at  your  age  ; I did  the  same  in  my  time 
even  I.  But  remember  this^  — you  will  do  worse  thai 
that  some  day.  You  will  win  some  pretty  womai 
and  accept  her  money.  You  have  thought  of  it  al 
ready,”  said  Vautrin;  ‘‘how  else  do  you  expect  U 
succeed  if  you  don’t  turn  her  to  advantage  ? Virtue 
my  dear  student,  is  not  a thing  you  can  have  by  halves 
It  is  — or  it  is  not.  We  are  told  to  repent  of  our  sins, 
Another  pretty  system,  that  lets  a man  get  rid  of  hi^ 
crimes  by  a mere  act  of  contrition  ! To  plan  a woman’^ 
infamy  that  you  may  mount  the  social  ladder ; to  put  a 
strain  of  illegitimacy  among  the  children  ; to  be  guilty 
of  cruelties  and  wrongs  for  your  own  pleasure  and  ad- 
vantage, — are  those  what  you  call  works  of  faith,  hope, 
and  charity  ? Why  should  a man  of  fashion  be  lightly 
dealt  with  for  defrauding  the  rightful  heir  of  half  hig 
fortune,  while  the  poor  devil  who  steals  a thousand- 
franc  note  goes  to  the  galleys  ? But  such  is  law. 
Every  enactment  may  be  stretched  to  an  absurdity. 
Between  what  I propose  to  you  and  what  you  will  do 
some  day  there  is  no  difference.  You  believe  that  there 
are  certain  principles  as  fixed  as  Fate  in  this  world. 
Study  men,  and  see  how  many  loop-holes  there  are 
through  which  they  set  laws  and  principles  at  defiance. 
The  secret  of  a great  fortune  made  without  apparent 
cause  is  soon  forgotten,  if  the  crime  is  committed  in  ^4 
respectable  way.” 


Pere  Croriot. 


143 


" Silence,  Monsieur  ! I will  hear  no  more.  You  will 
lake  me  doubt  myself,  — and  my  only  guide  is  the  in- 
duct of  my  own  heart.” 

“ As  you  please,  bel  enfant ! I thought  you  stronger 
lan  I find  you,”  said  Vautrin.  “ I will  say  no  more  — 
es,  a last  word.”  He  looked  steadily  at  the  student. 
You  have  my  secret,”  he  said. 

“A  young  man  who  declines  your  offer  will  know 
ow  to  forget  it.” 

“ That  is  well  said ; I am  glad  you  have  said  it. 
■ome  one,  you  know,  may  be  less  scrupulous.  Think 
ver  what  I have  wished  to  do  for  you.  I will  give  you 
wo  weeks.  Take  my  offer  or  leave  it  — as  you  will.” 

“ Man  of  iron ! ” thought  Rastignac,  as  he  watched 
^autrin  walk  leisurely  away  with  his  cane  under  his 
rm.  “ He  told  me  bluntly  what  Madame  de  Beauseant 
aid  in  more  ambiguous  words.  He  has  torn  my  heart 
dth  his  steel  claws.  Why  am  I going  to  Madame  de 
^ucingen’s  ? He  guessed  my  motives,  — guessed  them 
s soon  as  I conceived  them.  This  brigand  has  told 
ae  in  two  words  more  about  virtue  than  books  or  men 
lave  ever  taught  me.  If  there  is  no  compromise  with 
'irtue,  then  I have  robbed  my  sisters,”  he  cried,  push- 
ng  the  money-bags  away  from  him  and  sitting  down 
it  the  table.  His  thoughts  bewildered  him.  “ To  be 
aithful  to  vii'tue,”  he  said  to  himself,  “ is  it  to  suffer 
nartyrdom?  Bah!  every  one  believes  in  virtue,  but 
vho  is  virtuous  ? Nations  take  liberty  for  their  idol, 
rat  is  there  upon  earth  one  nation  free?  My  youth 
8 still  unsullied  as  the  blue  of  heaven.  If  I resolve  to 
he  rich  and  great,  must  I bring  myself  to  stooping,  ly- 
ng,  grovelling,  threatening,  flattering,  deceiving  ? Shall 


144 


Pere  Goriot. 


I make  myself  the  lacquey  of  those  who  lie  and  crawl 
and  deceive  ? Before  I become  their  accomplice  shall 
I be  forced  to  do  them  service?  No!  I wall  not!  ] 
will  toil  nobly  in  the  fear  of  God ; I will  labor  night 
and  day.  I will  owe  my  fortune  to  myself,  and  my- 
self only.  It  may  be  slow  in  coming,  but  each  night  1 
shall  lay  my  head  upon  my  pillow  without  a shameful 
thought.  What  can  be  more  blessed  than  to  look  back 
upon  one’s  life,  and  see  it  pure  and  stainless  as  a lily  r 
My  life  and  I are  like  a bride  and  her  lover  — Ah ! 
Vautrin  showed  me  what  comes  to  pass  after  ten  years 
of  marriage.  God  ! My  head  swims  — I will  not 
reason ; the  heart  is  my  true  guide  — ” 


Pete  G-oriot, 


146 


X. 

Eugeiste  was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  the  voice 
sf  Sylvie  announcing  the  arrival  of  his  tailor.  He  went 
in  to  meet  him,  carrying  his  bags  of  money,  a trifling 
3ircumstance  which  gave  him  pleasure.  After  trying 
311  his  evening  suit,  he  put  on  the  morning  one  which 
transformed  him  completely.  “ I ani  quite  up  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Trailles,”  he  said  to  himself  complacently. 
“At  last  I look  like  a gentleman.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Here  Goriot,  coming  into  Eugene’s 
chamber,  “ you  asked  me  if  I knew  to  whose  house 
Madame  de  Nucingen  was  going.” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well,  next  Monday  she  is  going  to  a ball  at  the 
Mar4ohale  Carigliano’s.  If  you  are  there  you  will  tell 
me  how  my  daughters  enjoyed  themselves,  how  they 
were  dressed,  and  all  about  them?” 

“How  did  you  And  it  out,  my  good  Here  Goriot?” 
said  Eugene,  making  him  sit  down  by  the  Are. 

“ Her  maid  told  me.  I know  all  they  do  through 
Therese  and  Constance,”  he  said  gleefully.  The  old 
man  was  like  a lover,  still  boyish  enough  to  be  de- 
lighted with  a stratagem  which  put  him  in  communi- 
cation with  the  object  of  his  adoration  without  her 
knowing  it. 

“ And  you  will  be  there  to  see  them ! ” he  said  in  a 
tone  of  mixed  envy  and  suffering. 

10 


146 


Pere  Goriot, 


\ 


am  going 
shall  ask  her 
was  thinking 


I don’t  know  yet,”  replied  Eugene, 
to  call  on  Madame  de  Beauseant,  and  I 
to  introduce  me  to  the  Marechale.”  He 
with  inward  joy  of  showing  himself  to  the  viscountess 
in  his  new  clothes,  and  looking  as  he  intended  to  look 
for  the  rest  of  his  days.  What  moralists  call  great 
crises  in  the  human  heart  are  commonly  the  offspring 
of  deceptive  and  involuntary  movements  of  self-interest. 
Sudden  changes  of  purpose  hard  to  understand,  unac- 
countable reversals  of  a first  desire,  spring  generally 
from  some  calculation  in  favor  of  self-indulgence. 
When  Rastignac  beheld  himself  well  dressed,  well 
gloved,  well  booted,  he  forgot  his  virtuous  resolutions. 
The  young  dare  not  look  at  themselves  in  the  glass  of 
conscience  when  it  reveals  them  as  they  should  be  and 
not  as  they  would  be ; older  men  have  the  nerve  to 
see  themselves  reflected  undisguised.  In  this  lies  the 
difference  between  the  ages. 

For  some  days  past  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  had  be- 
come close  friends.  Their  intimacy  had  its  origin  in 
the  same  psychological  mystery  which  produced  the 
opposite  effect  upon  the  student  in  his  relations  with 
Vautrin.  The  bold  philosopher  who  seeks  to  show 
the  influence  of  mind  upon  our  material  being  may  ob- 
tain many  a proof  by  observing  the  relations  between 
man  and  animals.  What  physiognomist  is  so  quick  to 
discern  character  as  a dog  is  to  know  whether  a stranger 
likes  or  dislikes  him  ? Les  atomes  crochus  (elective 
affinities)  is  an  expression  which  has  passed  into  a pro- 
verb, and  contains  one  of  those  facts  permanently  im- 
bedded in  language  as  a protest  against  the  stupidity 
of  those  who  make  it  their  business  to  winnow  out  of 


Pere  Goriot. 


147 


our  speech  its  primitive  words.^  We  feel  ourselves 
beloved.  The  feeling  stamps  itself  on  everything,  and 
ignores  space.  A letter  holds  beneath  its  seal  a human 
soul.  It  is  so  faithful  an  echo  of  the  voice  that  speaks 
too  far  away  for  us  to  hear,  that  the  heart  prizes 
written  words  as  among  the  richest  treasures  in  the 
gift  of  love.  Pere  Goriot,  raised  by  his  instinctive  sen- 
timent to  the  sublimest  heights  attainable  by  canine 
nature,  had  guessed  intuitively  the  compassion,  the 
friendly  admiration,  and  the  fresh  young  sympathy 
which  moved  the  heart  of  the  student  towards  him. 
But  this  understanding  had  as  yet  led  to  no  confidence 
between  them.  Though  Eugene  had  expressed  a wish 
to  see  Madame  de  Nucingen,  it  was  not  because  he  ex- 
pected to  be  introduced  to  her  by  her  father ; he  merely 
hoped  that  through  him  something  might  turn  up  to 
aid  his  plans.  Pere  Goriot  had  said  nothing  to  him 
about  his  daughters,  except  in  connection  with  what 
had  passed  in  public  on  the  day  of  his  visit  to  the 
countess. 

“ My  dear  Monsieur,”  the  old  man  had  remarked  the 
next  morning,  ^^how  could  you  think  that  Madame  de 
Restaud  was  displeased  with  you  for  mentioning  my 
name?  My  daughters  both  love  me  dearly.  I am  a 
very  happy  father ; only  my  sons-in-law  have  not  be- 
haved well  to  me.  I did  not  wish  to  make  my  two 
dear  children  suffer  because  of  my  misunderstandings 
with  their  husbands ; so  I prefer  to  see  them  secretly. 
This  mystery  gives  me  many  enjoyments,  such  as  fathers 

1 Atomes  crochus  (hooked  atoms),  — atoms  supposed  to  be 
hooked,  according  to  the  system  of  Democritus  and  Epicurus,  so 
that  they  catch  and  hold  each  other  when  they  meet.  — Littr£ 


148 


Pere  Croriot. 


never  feel  who  can  see  their  daughters  at  any  moment. 
I cannot  always  — you  understand.  If  I do  not  see 
them  at  their  homes  I go  to  the  Champs-Elysees, — 
after  finding  out  from  their  maids  whether  they  are 
going  out  that  day.  I wait  to  see  them  pass.  How 
my  heart  beats  when  I see  their  carriages ! When 
they  come  near  I admire  their  toilettes^  and  they 
give  me  a pretty  laugh  as  they  drive  by,  which  gilds 
the  world  around  me  like  a ray  of  sunshine.  Then  I 
stay  about  till  they  return.  I see  them  again.  The 
fresh  air  has  done  them  good  ; they  have  a color  in 
their  cheeks.  I hear  people  saying,  ‘There  goes  a 
beautiful  woman,’  and  my  heart  leaps  for  joy.  Are 
they  not  mine?  — my  own  fiesh  and  blood?  I love 
the  very  horses  in  their  carriages.  I should  like  to  be 
the  lap-dog  lying  on  their  knees.  I live  in  their  happi- 
ness. Everybody  has  his  own  way  of  loving,  — mine 
does  no  harm  to  any  one.  Why  should  people  trouble 
themselves  about  me?  I am  happy  after  my  own 
fashion.  No  law  forbids  my  standing  in  the  street  to 
see  my  daughters  when  they  come  out  of  their  houses 
to  go  to  a ball.  Ah ! what  a disappointment  if  I get 
there  too  late,  and  the  porter  says,  ‘ Madame  is  gone.’ 
Once  I waited  till  three  in  the  morning  to  see  my 
Nasie  : I had  not  seen  her  for  two  days.  Please  never 
speak  as  if  my  daughters  were  not  kind  to  me.  They 
want  to  give  me  all  manner  of  presents ; but  I will 
not  let  them.  I always  say,  ‘ Keep  your  money  ; what 
could  I do  with  it  ? I don’t  want  for  anything.’  In- 
deed, my  dear  Monsieur,  what  am  I but  an  old  car- 
cass whose  soul  is  with  his  daughters  all  the  time? 
When  you  have  seen  Madame  de  Nucingen  you  must 


Peve  Q'Oriot. 


149 


ell  me  which  of  the  two  you  like  better,”  added  the 
)ld  man  after  a moment’s  silence,  watching  Eugene, 
vho  was  making  ready  to  go  to  the  Tuileries  and 
ounge  away  the  time  until  he  could  call  on  Madame 
le  Beauseant. 

That  lounge  was  fatal  to  our  student.  He  was  so 
i^oung,  so  handsome,  and  so  well  dressed  that  several 
vomen  took  notice  of  him.  When  he  felt  himself  the 
)bject  of  their  admiring  glances  he  forgot  the  sisters 
md  the  aunt  whom  he  had  despoiled,  and  all  his  virtu- 
ous repugnance  to  crooked  paths.  Satan,  that  fallen 
ingel,  _ still  angelic  to  the  eye,  — passed  in  the  air 
about  him  floating  on  prismatic  wing  ; that  fatal  an- 
gel who  scatters  rubies,  wraps  women  in  purple,  wings 
golden  arrows  at  the  gates  of  palaces,  and  sheds  a false 
radiance  upon  thrones  once  in  their  origin  so  simple. 
He  gave  ear  to  this  demon  of  vain  glory,  whose  tinsel 
is  the  symbol  of  its  power.  The  words  of  Vautrm, 
cynical  as  they  were,  had  lodged  in  his  heart  and  seared 
their  way. 

After  idling  about  till  flve  o’clock,  Eugene  presented 
himself  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s,  and  received  one 
of  those  sharp  checks  against  which  young  hearts  are 
defenceless.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  always  found  the 
viscountess  full  of  the  gracious  honeyed  courtesy  which 
is  attainable  only  through  aristocratic  training,  though 
it  is  never  in  perfection  unless  it  springs  from  the 
heart. 

When  he  entered.,  Madame  de  Beauseant  made  a 
chilling  gostare,  and  said  coldly,  “ Monsieur  de  Ras- 
tignac,  1 cannot  possibly  see  you  to-day ; certainly  not 
at  this  moment  — I am  occupied. 


160 


Pere  Gioriot, 


Rastignac  had  now  become  a quick  observer.  Th^ 
words,  gesture,  look,  the  tone  of  voice,  were  all  sign^: 
of  the  habits  and  character  of  her  caste.  He  perceived 
the  iron  hand  within  the  velvet  glove,  the  personality 
and  the  egoism  beneath  the  manner,  the  grain  of  the 
wood  below  the  polish.  He  heard  the  Moi^  le  — 

1,  the  King,”  — which  begins  at  the  throne,  but  echoeg 
from  every  well-born  gentleman  and  gentlewoman. 
Eugene  had  trusted  too  implicitly  to  the  generous  im- 
pulses of  women.  He  had  signed  in  good  faith  the 
charming  covenant  whose  first  article  proclaims  the 
equality  of  all  noble  hearts.  Kindness  given  and 
received  aright,  and  knitting  two  hearts  into  one,  is 
a thing  of  heaven,  as  rare  in  this  world  as  a perfect 
love ; both  are  the  overflow  of  only  very  rare  and 
beautiful  souls. 

Rastignac  was  bent  on  going  to  the  ball  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  and  therefore  he  swallowed 
his  mortification. 

Madame,”  he  said  in  a low  voice,  ‘‘  were  it  not  that 
I had  something  to  ask  I would  not  trouble  you.  Be 
so  gracious  as  to  let  me  see  you  later.  I will  wait.” 

‘‘Well,  come  and  dine,”  she  said,  rather  sorry  for 
the  harshness  with  which  she  had  treated  him ; for  at 
heart  she  was  kind  as  well  as  stately. 

Though  somewhat  touched  by  this  sudden  relenting, 
Rastignac  said  to  himself  as  he  left  the  courtyard, 

“ Crawl,  if  you  must ; bear  everything.  What  can 
other  women  be,  if  in  a moment  the  best  among  them 
forgets  her  promises  of  friendship  and  casts  me  aside 
like  an  old  shoe?  Well,  each  man  for  himself!  It  is 
true  her  house  is  not  a shop  where  I have  the  right  to 


Pere  Croriot. 


161 


buy  the  things  I want.  I do  wrong  to  have  need  of 
her.  As  Vautrin  says,  one  should  be  a cannon-ball, 
and  make  one’s  way  accordingly.” 

Thus,  by  a sort  of  fatality,  even  the  trifling  events 
of  his  life  conspired  to  push  him  into  a career  where, 
as  the  terrible  sphinx  of  the  Maison  Vauquer  warned 
him,  he  must  slay  to  escape  being  slain,  deceive  lest 
he  should  be  deceived,  lay  down  heart  and  conscience 
at  the  threshold,  put  on  a mask,  use  men  for  his  pur- 
poses without  pity,  and,  like  the  Spartan  boy,  snatch 
fortune  unperceived,  if  he  wished  to  wear  the  crown. 

When  he  went  back  to  dinner  at  the  Hotel  Beause- 
ant  he  found  its  mistress  full  of  the  gracious  kindness 
she  had  hitherto  shown  him.  They  went  together  into 
the  dining-room,  where  Monsieur  de  Beauseant  was 
awaiting  his  wife,  and  where  Eugene  saw  for  the  first 
time  all  that  table  luxury  which,  as  every  one  knows, 
was  carried  under  the  Bestoration  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  perfection.  Monsieur  de  Beauseant,  like  other  men 
wearied  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  cared  for  lit- 
tle now  but  good  eating.  His  taste  in  cookery  was 
of  the  school  of  Louis  XVIH.  and  the  Due  d’Escars. 
His  table  ofiered  a double  luxury  to  his  guests,  in  the 
perfection  of  its  service  and  the  perfection  of  its  menu. 
Nothing  of  the  kind  had  ever  come  into  the  experi- 
ence of  Eugene,  who  was  dining  for  the  first  time  in 
one  of  those  great  houses  where  domestic  splendor  is 
an  hereditary  tradition.  Fashion  had  done  away  with 
the  suppers  that  formerly  wound  up  the  balls  of  the 
Empire,  and  as  yet  Eugene  had  only  been  invited  to 
balls.  The  social  assurance  and  self-possession  for  which 
be  subsequently  became  so  distinguished,  and  which 


152 


Pere  Goriot. 


began  to  show  itself  even  at  this  early  stage  of  his  can 
reer,  prevented  him  from  betraying  his  wonder.  Bui 
the  sight  of  all  that  glittering  oilver  and  the  thousand 
refinements  of  a sumptuous  table,  the  pleasure  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time  of  being  served  noiselessly  and  with- 
out confusion,  made  it  natural  for  a youth  of  lively 
imagination  to  contrast  this  elegance  with  the  life  of 
privation  he  had  declared  himself  willing  to  embrace 
only  a few  hours  before.  His  thoughts  went  back  for 
a moment  to  the  pension  ; and  such  horror  of  it  filled 
his  mind  that  he  swore  under  his  breath  to  leave  it  on 
the  1st  of  January, — ^ as  much  to  find  himself  a better 
lodging  as  to  escape  Vautrin,  whose  huge  hand  he 
seemed  always  to  feel  upon  his  shoulder. 

If  we  remember  the  thousand  shapes  that  vice  takes, 
disguisedly  or  undisguisedly,  in  Paris,  a man  of  sense 
must  wonder  what  aberration  of  mind  has  led  the  Gov- 
ernment to  place  schools  and  colleges  within  the  city, 
and  to  collect  in  the  very  heart  of  it  a vast  assemblage 
of  young  men.  But  when  we  come  to  discover  how 
seldom  crimes,  or  even  misdemeanors,  are  committed 
by  students,  with  what  respect  must  we  regard  these 
patient  sons  of  Tantalus,  who  nearly  always  come  off 
conquei'ors  in  their  combat  with  temptation.  This 
struggle  of  the  student  against  the  world  of  Paris,  if 
it  could  be  painted  by  the  hand  of  a great  minster, 
would  be  the  most  dramatic  subject  for  art -in,  our 
modern  civilization. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  now  looked  inquiringly  at 
Eugene,  expecting  him  to  explain  what  he  had  to 
ask  of  her ; but  Eugene  would  say  nothing  before  the 
viscount. 


Pere  Groriot,  163 

« Shall  you  take  me  to-night  to  the  opera?  ” asked 
the  viscountess  of  her  husband. 

You  cannot  doubt  the  pleasure  it  would  give  me 
to  be  at  your  disposal,”  he  replied,  with  an  elaborate 
gallantry,  of  which  the  student  was  the  dupe ; but  I 
have  promised  to  join  some  one  at  the  Variet^s.” 

‘‘  His  mistress ! ” she  said  to  herself. 

Is  not  d’Adjuda  coming  this  evening?”  he  asked, 

“ No,”  she  replied  shortly. 

‘‘  Well,  if  you  are  really  in  need  of  an  escort,  here  is 
Monsieur  de  Rastignac.” 

The  viscountess  looked  at  Eugene  with  a smile. 

‘‘  It  may  seriously  compromise  you,”  she  said. 

‘‘‘A  Frenchman  courts  danger,  if  it  leads  to  glory,’ 
as  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand  says,”  replied  Eugene, 
with  a bow. 

A few  moments  later  he  was  driving  rapidly  with 
Madame  de  Beauseant  to  the  fashionable  theatre,  and 
felt  himself  in  fairy-land  as  he  entered  a box  facing 
the  stage,  and  peiceived  how  many  opera-glasses  were 
levelled  at  himself  and  the  viscountess,  whose  toilette 
that  evening  was  particularly  charming.  Our  poor 
student  passed  from  one  enchantment  to  another. 

“You  had  something  to  say  to  me.^  ” said  Madame 
de  Beauseant.  “Ah!  stay,  — there  is  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  three  boxes  from  ours.  Her  sister  and 
Monsieur  de  Trailles  are  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house.” 

As  she  said  this,  the  viscountess  was  looking  at  the 
box  where  she  expected  to  see  Mademoiselle  de 
Rochefide ; not  finding  Monsieur  d’Adjuda  there,  her 
face  brightened  exceedingly. 


i54 


Pere*Goriot, 


“ She  is  pretty,”  said  Eugene,  after  having  looked* 
at  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

‘‘  She  has  white  eyebrows.” 

“ But  what  a pretty  waist ! ” 

She  has  large  hands.” 

“ Fine  eyes.” 

“ Her  face  is  too  long.” 

“ A long  face  is  said  to  give  distinction.” 

“ That  is  lucky  for  her,  then.  See  how  she  picks  up 
her  opera-glass  and  puts  it  down  ! You  can  see  the 
Goriot  in  every  movement,”  said  the  viscountess,  much 
to  the  amazement  of  Eugene. 

The  truth  was,  Madame  de  Beauseant,  while  appar- 
ently looking  over  all  parts  of  the  house  and  paying 
no  attention  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  did  not  lose  a 
single  one  of  her  movements.  The  audience  was  re- 
markably elegant  that  night,  and  Delphine  de  Nu- 
cingen was  not  a little  pleased  to  perceive  that  she 
engrossed  the  attention  of  Madame  de  Beauseant’s 
handsome  cousin,  who  seemed  to  single  her  out  for 
observation. 

“If  you  continue  to  look  at  her  you  will  create  a 
scandal.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,”  said  the  viscountess. 
‘^You  will  never  succeed  if  you  fling  yourself  head- 
long at  people  in  that  way.” 

“ My  dear  cousin,”  said  Eugene,  “ you  have  already 
taken  me  under  your  protection.  If  you  would  now 
complete  your  work,  I will  only  ask  you  to  do  me  one 
more  favor.  It  will  not  hurt  you,  and  it  will  be  of  the 
greatest  help  to  me.  Do  you  know,  I have  taken  a 
fancy  to  her.” 

“ Already  ? ” 


Fere  Goriot. 


156 


“Yes.” 

“ That  woman ! ” 

“Would  my  devotion  be  acceptable  elsewhere?”  he 
asked,  with  a keen  glance  at  his  cousin.  After  a pause 
he  resumed,  — 

“ Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Carigliano  is  attached  to 
the  household  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Bern.  You 
know  her,  of  course.  Do  me  the  kindness  to  introduce 
me  to  her,  and  take  me  to  her  ball  next  Monday.  I 
shall  meet  Madame  de  Nucingen  there,  and  make  my 
first  essay.” 

« Willingly,”  she  said ; “ if  you  really  fancy  her,  you 
will  get  on  easily.  There  is  de  Marsay  in  Princess 
Galathionne’s  box.  Madame  de  Nucingen  can  hardly 
contain  herself  for  spite.  There  could  not  be  a better 
moment  for  making  your  way  with  a woman,  especially 
a bankei-’s  wife.  Those  Chaussee  d’Antin  ladies  dearly 
love  revenge.” 

“What  would  you  do  under  similar  circumstances  ? ” 
“ Suffer,  and  make  no  sign.” 

At  that  moment  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda  came  into 
the  box.  “I  have  dispatched  my  business  very  badly 
that  I might  be  in  time  to  join  you,”  he  said.  “ I tell 
you  this,  because  if  it  seems  a sacrifice  in  your  eyes 
it  is  no  longer  one  to  me.” 

The  light  that  broke  over  her  face  taught  Eugene 
the  difference  between  a real  affection  and  the  shams 
of  coquetry.  He  admired  his  cousin.  He  grew  silent, 
and  yielded  his  place  to  Monsieur  d’Adjuda  with  a 
sigh.  “What  a noble  creature  such  a woman  is!” 
he  thought ; “ and  this  man  gives  her  up  for  a wax 
doll!” 


156 


Pere  Groriot. 


He  felt  as  angry  as  a boy.  He  would  have  liked  to 
fall  down  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s  feet  and  offer  her 
an  unlimited  devotion,  and  he  looked  at  Madame  de 
Nucingen  with  a revulsion  of  feeling,  as  a man  looks 
at  an  adversary. 

The  viscountess  turned  her  head  and  thanked  him 
for  his  consideration  with  a little  motion  of  the  eyelids. 
The  first  act  was  now  over. 

Do  you  know  Madame  de  Nucingen  well  enough 
to  introduce  to  her  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  ? ” she  said 
to  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda. 

She  will  be  charmed  to  know  Monsieur,”  said  the 
marquis. 

The  handsome  Portuguese  rose,  took  the  student  by 
the  arm,  and  in  a moment  they  were  in  the  box  of 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

Madame  la  baronne,”  said  the  marquis,  ‘‘  I have 
the  honor  to  present  to  you  the  Chevalier  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  a cousin  of  Madame  de  Beauseant.  You 
have  made  so  great  an  impression  on  him  that  I am 
delighted  to  complete  his  happiness  by  bringing  him 
into  the  presence  of  his  divinity.” 

These  words  were  said  with  a slight  tone  of  irony, 
which  made  the  speech  a little  impertinent.  But  this 
tone  skilfully  applied  is  not  altogether  displeasing  to 
women.  Madame  de  Nucingen  smiled  and  offered 
Eugene  her  husband’s  seat,  the  baron  having  just  left 
the  box. 

“ I dare  not  propose  to  you  to  remain  with  me,  Mon- 
sieur,” she  said ; when  any  one  has  the  happiness  to 
be  placed  near  Madame  de  Beauseant  his  first  wish  is 
to  remain  there.” 


Pere  GorioL 


157 


‘‘  But,  Madame/’  said  Eugene,  lowering  his  voice, 

‘ it  seems  to  me  that  if  I wish  to  please  my  cousin  I 
5hall  stay  here.  Before  Monsieur  le  marquis  came  into 
her  box  we  were  talking  of  you,”  he  said  aloud,  ‘‘  and 

your  air  of  distinction.” 

Monsieur  d’Adjuda  retired. 

“ Are  you  really  going  to  remain  with  me,  Monsieur?” 
said  the  baronne  *,  shall  we  at  last  make  acquaintance 
with  one  another  ? Madame  de  Bestaud  has  given  me 
a great  wish  to  know  you.” 

‘‘  She  is  very  insincere  then.  She  has  shut  her  doors 
against  me.” 

How  is  that  ? ” 

‘‘  Madame,  I will  tell  you  plainly  the  reason  j but  I 
must  ask  your  indulgence  if  I do  so.  I am  the  neigh- 
bor of  Monsieur,  your  father,  — our  rooms  adjoin.  I 
did  not  know  that  Madame  de  Restaud  was  his  daugh- 
ter. I had  the  want  of  tact  to  speak  of  him,  most  inno- 
cently but  in  a way  that  offended  Madame  de  Restaud 
and  her  husband.  You  cannot  imagine  how  much 
Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Langeais  and  my  cousin  con- 
demn the  want  of  filial  feeling  on  the  part  of  your 
sister.  I told  them  the  story,  and  they  laughed  at  my 
blunder.  It  was  then  that,  comparing  you  with  your 
sister,  Madame  de  Beauseant  spoke  most  warmly  of 
you,  and  told  me  how  kind  you  are  to  my  neighbor 
Monsieur  Goriot.  How  indeed  could  you  help  loving 
him  ? He  adores  you  so  passionately  that  I feel  jeah 
ous  already.  We  were  talking  of  you  two  hours  this 
morning.  This  evening,  as  my  mind  dwelt  on  what 
he  had  told  me,  I said  to  my  cousin  with  whom  I 
was  dining,  that  I did  not  believe  you  could  be  as 


158 


Pere  Goriot. 


beautiful  in  person  as  you  were  amiable  in  heart 
Willing  no  doubt  to  favor  my  admiration,  Madame  de 
Beauseant  brought  me  with  her  this  evening,  telling 
me,  in  her  gracious  way,  that  I should  certainly  see 
you  here.” 

Ah  ! Monsieur,  do  I owe  you  gratitude  already  ? ” 
said  the  banker’s  wife  ; a little  more  and  we  shall  be 
old  friends.” 

‘‘  Friendship  must  be  a noble  sentiment  when  in- 
spired by  you,”  said  Rastignac  ; “ but  I shall  never  ask 
for  your  friendship.” 

Such  stereotyped  nonsense  in  the  mouths  of  debu- 
tants seem  to  please  women,  and  are  only  absurd  when 
written  down  in  cold  blood.  The  gesture,  the  tone, 
and  the  glance  of  a young  man  lends  to  such  speeches 
a certain  charm.  Madame  de  Nucingen  was  delighted 
with  Eugene.  Then,  as  she  could  say  nothing  in  reply 
to  such  sentiments,  she  responded  to  another  part  of 
his  speech  : — 

‘‘Yes,  my  sister  does  herself  harm  by  the  way  she 
neglects  our  poor  father,  who  has  been  a perfect  Provi- 
dence to  both  of  us.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was 
obliged  to  give  me  peremptory  orders  not  to  receive 
my  father  among  my  other  guests  before  I would  yield 
the  point  to  him.  It  has  made  me  very  miserable ; 1 
have  wept  over  it.  His  violence  on  this  subject,  joined 
to  other  conjugal  unkindness,  has  greatly  troubled  my 
domestic  happiness.  I may  be  a fortunate  woman  in 
the  eyes  of  Paris,  but  I consider  myself  one  of  the 
most  pitiable.  You  will  think  me  mad  to  speak  to  you 
in  this  way.  But  since  you  know  my  father  I cannot 
feel  to  you  as  a stranger.” 


Pere  GorioL 


159 


Indeed  you  could  meet  no  one,”  cried  Eugene, 
‘^more  desirous  of  doing  you  service.  What  are  ali 
women  striving  for?  Is  it  not  happiness?  And  if 
happiness  for  a woman  is,”  he  added,  in  a low  voice, 
‘‘  to  be  loved,  adored  ; to  possess  a friend  in  whom 
she  may  unhesitatingly  confide  her  desires,  her  fan- 
cies, her  griefs,  her  joys,  — before  whom  she  can  lay 
bare  her  heart  with  all  its  excellences  and  all  its 
weaknesses,  and  know  that  her  confidence  will  never 
be  betrayed,  — then,  believe  me,  such  a friend  can 
only  be  found  in  a young  man  full  of  illusions,  who 
knows  nothing  of  the  world,  nor  ever  will  know, 
because  you  will  be  all  the  world  to  him.  You  will 
laugh  at  my  naivete  when  I tell  you  that  I have  just 
come  up  from  the  country,  that  I am  new  to  the  world, 
that  I have  never  known  any  one  who  was  not  good 
and  true.  I thought  I should  live  without  love  here 
in  Paris;  but  I have  been  thrown  with  my  cousin,  who 
has  deeply  touched  my  feelings  ; she  has  let  me  see  into 
her  heart,  and  I have  guessed  at  treasures  of  affection. 
Like  Cherubin,  I am  the  lover  of  all  women  until  I 
may  devote  myself  to  one.  When  I saw  you  to-night 
for  the  first  time,  I felt  as  if  I were  floated  towards 
you  by  the  force  of  a current.  I had  been  thinking  of 
you  so  much ! But  in  ray  dreams  you  were  not  as 
beautiful  as  you  are  in  reality.  Madame  de  Beauseant 
ordered  me  not  to  fix  my  eyes  upon  you.  She  could 
not  understand  the  attraction  of  your  sweet  lips,  your 
lovely  color,  your  soft  eyes.  I,  too,  am  talking  madly, 
but  suffer  me  to  say  these  things  to  you.” 

Nothing  pleases  some  women  more  than  to  hear 
such  honeyed  words.  The  strictest  among  them  wiU 


160 


Pere  Goriot, 


listen,  even  though  she  does  not  respond.  Having 
thus  begun,  Rastignac  ran  on  with  more  of  the  same 
kind,  telling  his  beads  of  coquetry  in  a low  and  vi- 
brant voice;  while  Madame  de  Nucingen  encouraged 
him  by  her  smiles,  all  the  while  keeping  an  eye  upon 
de  Marsay,  who  was  still  in  the  box  of  the  Princess 
Galathionne. 

Rastignac  stayed  with  Madame  de  Nucingen  till  her 
husband  came  to  take  her  home. 

“ Madame,”  said  Eugene,  “ I shall  have  the  honor  of 
calling  upon  you  before  the  ball  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Carigliano.” 

If  Matame  bresents  you  there,”  said  the  baron,  a 
fat  Alsatian,  whose  round  face  showed  signs  of  danger- 
ous cunning,  so  vill  you  be  veil  receifed.” 

“ I am  getting  on  apace,”  thought  Eugene.  She 
was  not  the  least  angry  when  I said,  ‘ Could  you  love 
me  ?’  I have  bridled  my  mare;  now  let  me  ride  her.” 
So  thinking,  he  went  to  Madame  de  Beauseant’s  box 
to  make  his  bow.  She  was  leaving  with  Monsieur 
d'Adjuda.  Our  inexperienced  student  little  knew 
that  Madame  de  Nucingen  had  not  listened  to  half 
that  he  said  to  her.  Her  mind  was  occupied  by  a 
letter  she  was  expecting  from  de  Marsay,  that  would 
decide  her  fate.  Charmed,  however,  with  his  im- 
aginary success,  Eugene  accompanied  the  viscountess 
to  the  vestibule,  where  all  were  waiting  for  their 
carriages. 

“ Your  cousin  does  not  seem  like  himself,”  said  the 
Portuguese,  laughing,  when  Eugene  had  quitted  them. 
‘‘  He  has  the  air  of  a fellow  who  means  to  break  the 
bank.  He  is  as  supple  as  an  eel,  and  I think  he  will 


Pere  Goriot. 


161 


et  on.  It  was  clever  of  you  to  pick  out  for  him  a 
/Oman  in  need  of  consolation.” 

‘‘  Ah ! ” said  Madame  de  Beauseant ; “ but  all  de- 
lends,  you  know,  on  whether  she  loves  the  man  who 
5 forsaking  her.” 

Eugene  walked  back  from  the  theatre  to  the  Rue 
^euve  Sainte-Genevieve  with  his  head  brimful  of 
dsions.  He  had  noticed  the  attention  with  which 
dadame  de  Restaud  observed  him  when  in  the  box 
d the  viscountess,  and  also  in  that  of  Madame  de 
!fucingen ; and  he  argued  that  her  doors  would  not 
ong  be  closed  against  him.  Already  he  had  made 
bur  important  acquisitions  in  the  great  world  of 
Paris  ] for  he  took  it  for  granted  that  he  should  win 
he  good  graces  of  the  Marechale.  W^ithout  pre- 
cisely settling  how  to  carry  out  his  plans,  he  was 
ntuitively  conscious  that  in  the  game  he  had  to 
Dlay  among  so  many  complicated  interests,  he  would 
Jo  well  to  attach  himself  to  some  one  chariot  that 
would  whirl  him  onward,  conscious  that  he  was 
strong  enough,  when  his  end  was  gained,  to  put  on 
the  brakes. 

“If  Madame  de  Nucingen  is  interested  in  me,”  he 
thought,  “ I will  teach  her  to  manage  her  husband. 
The  baron  makes  money  hand  over  hand:  he  might 
help  me  to  some  stroke  of  fortune. 

He  did  not  say  this  bluntly ; the  notion  was  but  a 
light  cloud  floating  above  the  verge  of  his  horizon  ; he 
was  not  as  yet  sufficiently  advanced  to  sum  up  possibili- 
ties and  make  his  calculations,  — but  his  ideas,  though 
they  had  not  the  crude  ugliness  of  Vautrin’s,  would 
scarcely,  if  tested  in  the  crucible  of  conscience,  have 

11 


162 


Pere  Groriot. 


shown  much  that  was  pure.  It  is  by  a course  ol 
mental  compromises  of  this  kind  that  men  reach  the 
stage  of  relaxed  morality  which  characterizes  our 
epoch,  — an  epoch  when  it  is  rare,  rarer  than  in  any 
other  age  of  the  world’s  history,  to  find  men  of  high 
principle,  men  with  a sturdy  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
firm  wills  that  never  bow  the  knee  to  evil,  natures  to 
whom  the  smallest  deviation  from  the  straight  path 
seems  a sin.  Such  interpretation  of  virtue  has  given 
to  the  world  two  masterpieces,  — one,  the  Alceste  of 
Moli^re ; the  other,  Jeannie  Deans  and  her  father,  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  Perhaps  the  same  subject  seen 
from  its  other  side — a picture  of  the  shifts  and  wind- 
ings of  a man  of  the  world ; an  ambitious  man,  with 
no  fixed  conscience,  who  seeks  to  pick  his  way  along 
the  edge  of  wickedness,  and  yet  save  appearances 
while  he  gains  his  end — may  be  neither  less  useful, 
less  moral,  nor  less  dramatic. 

By  the  time  Rastignac  reached  his  own  door  he  had 
worked  himself  into  a sham  passion  for  Madame  de 
Nucingen.  He  thought  her  graceful  as  a swallow  ; he 
admired  the  enchanting  softness  of  her  eyes,  the  deli- 
cate and  silky  texture  of  her  skin  tinged  with  the 
blood  that  fiowed  beneath  it,  the  music  of  her  voice, 
and  her  abundant  fair  hair, — he  remembered  every 
particular ; and  perhaps  his  walk,  which  had  quickened 
his  pulses,  added  to  the  fascination.  “He  knocked 
sharply  at  Pere  Goriot’s  door. 

‘‘My  neighbor,”  he  said,  “I  have  seen  Madame 
Delphine.” 

“ Where  ? ” 

‘‘At  the  opera.” 


Pere  Goriot. 


163 


“Did  she  enjoy  herself?  Come  in”  said  the  old 
nan^  who  ^ot  ont  of  bed  in  his  shirt  and  opened  his 
loor,  and  then  went  back  to  bed  again.  “ Tell  me  all 
ibout  her,”  he  said. 

Eugene,  who  found  himself  for  the  first  time  in 
Pere  Goriot’s  chamber,  could  not  repress  a start  of 
imazement  at  the  wretchedness  in  which  the  father 
ived,  — comparing  it  with  what  he  knew  of  the  luxury 
)f  his  daughters. 

The  window  had  no  curtain ; the  paper  had  peeled 
n strips  from  the  damp  wall,  showing  the  plaster  yel- 
ow  with  smoke  and  age.  The  old  man  lay  upon  a 
«rretched  bed,  with  one  thin  blanket  and  a wadded 
juilt  made  out  of  scraps  of  Madame  Vauquer’s  old 
rowns.  The  tiles  of  the  floor  were  damp,  and  their 
crevices  were  filled  with  dust  and  dirt.  Against  the 
wall,  opposite  to  the  window,  stood  an  old  bureau  with 
a swelled  front  and  brass  handles  representing  grape- 
shoots  intertwined  with  leaves  and  flowers,  and  a 
wooden  stand  on  which  was  a water-jug  in  its  basin, 
and  a number  of  shaving  utensils.  In  one  corner  of 
the  room  a heap  of  shoes ; at  the  bed’s  head  a dilapi- 
dated night-stand  without  a door.  Beside  the  fire- 
place, where  there  were  no  traces  of  fire,  stood  the 
square  walnut  table  which  had  enabled  Pere  Goriot  to 
destroy  his  porringer.  A miserable  writing-desk  with 
the  old  man’s  hat  upon  it,  an  arm-chair  stuffed  with 
straw,  and  two  smaller  chairs  made  up  the  wretched 
furniture.  The  pole  of  the  bedstead,  fastened  by  a 
rag  to  a hook  in  the  ceiling,  upheld  a coarse  curtain  of 
red  checked  gingham.  The  poorest  errand-boy  in  a 
garret  was  surely  not  so  miserably  lodged  as  Pere 


164 


Pere  Groriot. 


Goriot  at  Madame  Vauqiier’s.  The  aspect  of  the 
room  chilled  and  wrung  the  heart ; it  was  desolate  as 
the  condemned  cell  of  a prison. 

Fortunately,  Pere  Goriot  could  not  see  the  expres- 
sion on  Eugene’s  face  as  he  put  his  candlestick  on  the 
table  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  The  old  man  turned 
towards  him,  and  lay  covered  up  to  the  chin. 

“Well,  which  do  you  like  better?”  he  asked, 
“Madame  de  Restaud  or  Madame  de  Nucingen?” 

“ I prefer  Madame  Delphine,”  replied  the  student, 

because  she  loves  you  best.” 

As  Eugene  said  these  words  warmly,  Pere  Goriot 
put  his  arm  out  of  bed  and  pressed  his  hand. 

“ Thank  you,  thank  you ! ” he  cried  eagerly.  “ What 
did  she  say  about  me  ? ” 

The  student  repeated  the  words  of  the  baronne, 
adding  some  affectionate  touches  of  his  own,  the  old 
man  listening  as  if  to  a voice  from  heaven. 

“Dear  child!”  he  said.  “Yes,  yes,  she  loves  me 
dearly.  But  you  must  not  believe  what  she  told  you 
of  Anastasie.  The  sisters  are  a little  jealous  of  each 
other.  It  is  another  proof  of  their  affection.  Madame 
de  Restaud  loves  me  dearly  too  ; I know  it.  A father 
is  to  his  daughters  what  the  good  God  is  to  all.  He 
sees  into  their  hearts,  he  knows  their  springs  of  action. 
Both  are  affectionate.  Oh ! if  I had  had  good  sons-in- 
law  I should  have  been  a happy  man!  I suppose  there 
is  no  perfect  happiness  on  earth.  If  I had  been  able 
to  live  with  them,  to  hear  their  voices,  to  know  them 
near  me,  to  see  them  as  they  went  out  and  came  in, 
as  I did  before  they  married,  my  heart  might  not  have 
borne  such  joy.  Were  they  well-dressed  ? ” 


Pere  Goriot. 


165 


“ Yes,”  said  Eugene.  “ But,  Monsieur  Goriot,  how  is 
it  that'  with  daughters  so  wealthy  as  yours,  you  live 
in  this  wretched  lodging?” 

“ Oh ! ” said  the  old  man  carelessly,  “ what  better  do 
I want  ? I cannot  explain  everything  to  you ; I never 
could  put  words  together.  It  is  all  here  ! ” he  added, 
striking  his  breast.  “ My  life  is  bound  up  in  my  daugh- 
ters. Ifthey  enjoy  themselves,  if  they  are  well-dressed, 
and  have  carpets  under  their  feet,  what  matters  it 
what  kind  of  coat  I wear,  or  what  sort  of  a place 
I sleep  in  ? I am  not  cold  if  they  are  warm ; I am 
not  dull  if  I know  they  laugh  ; I have  no  soitows  but 
theirs.  "When  you  have  children  you  will  say,  as  you 
watch  the  little  creatures  prattling  round  you,  ‘ They 
are  part  of  myself,  of  my  flesh  and  my  blood,  the 
flower  of  my  own  being.’  Yes,  I live  anew  in  their 
bodies ; I move  with  their  limbs ; I hear  their  voices 
answering  to  mine.  One  look  of  theirs,  if  they  are  sad, 
chills  my  blood.  Some  day  you  will  know  that  it 
is  better  to  be  happy  in  our  children’s  happiness  than 
in  our  own.  I cannot  explain  it.  There  are  wells  of 
inward  joy  that  nourish  life.  I live  three  lives,  — my 
own  and  theirs.  Shall  I tell  you  a strange  thing? 
When  I became  a father  I comprehended  God.  He  is 
present  in  all  things,  because  all  Nature  has  proceeded 
from  him.  Monsieur,  I am  so  with  my  daughters; 
only  I sometimes  think  our  world,  such  as  it  is,  cannot 
seem  so  beautiful  to  God  as  my  girls  are  to  me.  My 
heart  has  such  strange  connection  with  all  concerning 
them  that  I know  what  is  happening  to  them.  I knew 
that  you  would  see  them  this  evening.  Ah,  me ! if  any 
one  would  make  my  little  Delphine  happy,  I would 


166 


Pere  Goriot. 


black  his  boots  and  do  his  errands.  How  could  she 
have  brought  herself  to  marry  that  dull  log  of  an 
Alsatian  ? They  ought  to  have  had  noble  young  hus- 
bands, manly  and  amiable  and  good,  — but  they  chose 
for  themselves ! ” 

Pere  Goriot  was  stirred  out  of  himself.  Never  till 
now  had  Eugene  seen  him  thus  lighted  up  by  the  pas- 
sion of  paternity.  We  may  here  remark  on  the  in- 
filtrating, transforming  power  of  an  over-mastering 
emotion.  However  coarse  the  fibre  of  the  individual, 
let  him  be  held  by  a strong  and  genuine  affection,  and 
he  exhales,  as  it  were,  an  essence  which  illuminates 
his  features,  inspires  his  gestures,  and  gives  cadence  to 
his  voice.  It  happens  sometimes  that  the  dullest  soul 
under  the  lash  of  passion  attains  to  such  eloquence  of 
thought,  if  not  of  language,  that  it  seems  to  move  in  lu- 
minous air.  As  the  old  man  spoke,  his  voice  and  man- 
ner had  the  magnetic  power  of  noble  acting.  Are  not 
our  loftiest  emotions  the  poetry  of  the  human  will  ? 

“I  am  to  see  Madame  Delphine  to-morrow,”  said 
Eugene,  and  I am  to  meet  her  at  the  ball  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Carigliano  on  Monday.” 

‘‘  Ah ! how  I should  love  you,  my  young  friend,  if 
you  could  shed  a ray  of  brightness  on  her  life  ! You 
are  good  yourself,  and  kind.  But  I forget,  — this  room 
is  too  cold  for  you.  ]\fon  Pieii^  you  heard  her  voice  ! 
What  message  did  she  give  you  for  me  ? ” 

None  at  all,”  thought  Eugene ; but  he  said  aloud. 

She  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she  sent  you  a daughter’s 
kiss.” 

“ Adieu,  my  friend.  Sleep  sound  ; dream  pleasant 
dreams;  mine  will  be  perfect  with  that  kiss  to  think 


Fere  Qoriot. 


167 


f.  You  have  been  to  me  to-night  like  a blessed  angel. 
;'he  fragrance  of  my  daughter  hangs  about  you  still.” 

“Poor  man!”  sighed  Eugene  as  he  went  to  bed. 
■What  he  says  would  touch  a heart  of  stone.  His 
laughter  no  more  thought  of  him  than  she  did  of  the 
Jrand  Turk.” 

After  this  conversation,  Pere  Goriot  and  his  young 
leighbor  became  intimate  friends.  Between  them  ex- 
sted  the  sole  link  that' could  have  bound  the  old  man 
pO  a human  being.  Strong  passions  never  miscalculate. 
Pere  Goriot  saw  in  Rastignac  a means  of  communica- 
ion  with  his  daughters  and  the  possibility  of  drawing 
learer  to  them  if  the  student  became  intimate  with 
Ee  baronne.  Eugene  was,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
lie  most  engaging  young  fellow  he  had  ever  seen  ; 
md  the  old  man  admitted  him  to  his  friendship  and 
encouraged  an  intercourse  which  alone  has  made  it 
possible  for  us  to  relate  circumstantially  the  develop- 
ment of  this  tale. 


168 


Pere  Groriot, 


XI. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  the  interest  with 
which  Pere  Goriot  looked  at  Eugene  as  he  took  his 
place  beside  him  at  the  breakfast  table,  the  few  words 
that  were  exchanged  between  them,  and  the  great 
change  in  the  old  man’s  face,  usually  as  dull  as  a lump 
of  plaster,  surprised  the  other  guests.  Vautrin,  who 
saw  the  student  for  the  first  time  since  their  conference, 
tried  to  read  his  soul.  During  the  night-watches  Eu- 
gene, far  too  restless  to  sleep,  had  surveyed  the  field? 
before  him,  and  having  naturally  thought  of  Mademoi- 
selle Taillefer  and  her  dot^  now  looked  at  her  as  the 
most  virtuous  young  man  in  the  world  looks  at  a rich 
heiress.  It  happened  that  their  eyes  met.  The  poor 
girl  thought  Eugene  charming  in  his  new  clothes. 
The  glance  they  exchanged  was  significant  enough  to 
show  him  that  he  was  the  object  of  those  confused 
desires  which  come  into  the  hearts  of  all  young  gii-ls 
and  attach  themselves  to  the  first  comer  who  proves 
attractive.  A voice  within  him  cried,  “Eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  ! ” Then,  with  a look  at  Vautrin, 
he  went  back  to  recollections  of  the  opera,  and  fancied 
that  his  sham  passion  for  Madame  de  Nucingen  would 
be  the  antidote  to  involuntary  thoughts  of  evil. 

“ They  gave  us  Rossini’s  ‘ Barber  of  Seville  ’ last 
nieht,”  he  said.  “I  never  heard  such  delicious  music. 

O 7 


Fere  Qoriot.  169 

)ear  me ! how  delightful  it  must  be  to  have  a box  at 
he  opera ! ” 

Pdre  Goriot  snatched  at  this  speech  like  a dog 
napping  At  a morsel  flung  from  his  master’s  hand. 

“ Ah ! you  men  live  in  clover,”  cried  Madame 
T'auquer  ; “ you  can  have  anything  you  wish  for.” 

“ How  did  you  get  home  ? ” asked  Vautrin. 

“ On  foot,”  said  EugSne. 

“ For  my  part,”  said  the  tempter,  “ I don’t  like  half 
deasures.  I should  prefer  to  drive  to  the  opera  in  my 
>wn  carriage,  sit  in  my  own  box,  and  come  home 
lomfortably.  All  or  nothing,  — that’s  my  motto.” 

“And  a very  good  one,”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“Perhaps  you  will  see  Madame  de  Nucingen  to- 
lay,”  said  Eugene  in  a low  voice  to  P6re  Goriot. 

‘ She  will  receive  you  with  open  arms ; she  will  like 
,0  hear  some  particulars  about  me.  I have  heard  that 
he  wishes  to  be  invited  to  my  cousin’s,  Madame  de 
Beauseant.  Don’t  forget  to  tell  her  how  much  I 
idmire  her,  and  that  I hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
)rocuring  her  the  invitation.” 

Then  Rastignac  rose  and  went  00"  to  his  lecture, 
lot  caring  to  spend  a moment  more  than  he  could  help 
n that  odious  pension.  He  loitered  about  the  streets 
learly  all  day  with  the  fever  of  youth  and  its  first 
lopes  coursing  through  his  veins.  He  was  pondering 
Fe  conditions  of  social  life  as  revealed  by  Vautrin’s 
ihain  of  reasoning  when  he  met  Bianchon  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Luxembourg. 

“ What  makes  you  so  grave,  old  fellow  ? ” said  the 
medical  student,  taking  his  arm  as  they  walked  along 
ihe  front  of  the  palace. 


17D 


Pere  Goriot, 


I am  tormented  by  evil  thoughts.” 

“What  sort  of  evil  thoughts?  Tell  me;  thoughts 
can  be  cured.” 

“ How?” 

‘‘  By  giving  in  to  them.” 

“ You  don’t  know  what  you  are  laughing  at.  Did 
you  ever  read  Rousseau  ? ” 

Yes.” 

“ Do  you  remember  where  he  asks  the  reader  what 
he  would  do  if  he  could  make  himself  rich  by  killing 
an  old  mandarin  in  China  by  simply  willing  it  in 
Paris?” 

« Yes.” 

“ W ell,  I want  your  opinion.  What  would  you  do  ? ” 

“ Pooh  ! I We  got  to  my  thirty-third  mandarin.” 

« Don’t  joke  ; be  serious.  Suppose  it  was  proved  to 
you  that  such  a thing  was  possible,  and  that  it  only 
needed  just  a nod  from  you,  — would  you  do  it  ? ” 

“Is  the  mandarin  very  old? — But,  bah!  young 
or  old,  well  or  paralyzed,  — Heavens  and  earth ! — 
the  deuce ! Well,  then  — No  ! ” 

“ You  are  a good  fellow,  Bianchon.  But  suppose 
you  loved  a woman  well  enough  to  turn  your  soul 
wrong-side  out  for  her;  and  if  she  wanted  money, 
lots  of  money,  for  her  toilette^  her  carriage,  her 
whims  — ” 

“ You  bewilder  my  faculties,  and  then  you  want  me 
to  reason ! ” 

“Well,  see  here!  Bianchon,  I am  mad.  I want 
you  to  cure  me.  I have  two  sisters  who  are  angels  of 
beauty  and  goodness,  and  I want  them  to  be  happy. 
How  can  I,  between  now  and  five  years  hence,  get 


Pere  Gioriot. 


ITl 


wo  hundred  thousand  francs  for  their  dotl  There 
re  circumstances  you  know  in  which  one  must  play 
ligh  and  not  waste  one’s  luck  in  winning  pennies.” 

“ But  that ’s  the  very  question  that  stands  upon  the 
hreshold  of  every  man’s  life ; and  you  want  to  cut  the 
iordian  knot  with  the  sword ! To  do  this,  my  dear 
ellow,  one  must  be  Alexander,  — or  else  we  commit 
iome  crime  and  are  sent  to  the  galleys.  For  my  part, 
; am  quite  content  with  the  life  which  I expect  to  lead 
n the  provinces,  where  I shall  succeed  my  father  in  a 
jommonplace  way.  After  all,  a man’s  affections  can 
)e  as  fully  satisfied  in  a little  round  as  in  a vast  cir- 
cumference. Napoleon  could  not  eat  two  dinners  a 
lay.  A man’s  happiness  lies  between  the  soles  of  his 
eet  and  the  crown  of  his  head.  W^hether  that  happi- 
less  costs  a million  of  francs  a year,  or  a hundred  louis^ 
)ur  intrinsic  perception  of  it  is  the  same.  So  I go  in 
‘or  letting  the  mandarin  alone.” 

‘‘Thank  you,  you  have  done  me  good,  Bianchon. 
Let  us  always  be  friends.” 

“Look  here !”  resumed  the  medical  student,  as  they 
eft  the  Cours  de  Cuvier  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
‘ I have  just  seen  old  Michonneau  and  Poiret  on  a 
Dench  talking  with  a man  whom  I saw  during  the 
.roubles  of  last  year  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  He  looks  to  me  like  a police- 
jpy  disguised  as  a respectable  bourgeois  living  on 
lis  income.  Let  us  watch  that  couple.  I will  tell 
l^ou  why  later.  Adieu,  I must  be  ofi*  to  the  four- 
fclock  call.” 

When  Eugene  returned  to  Madame  Vauquer’s,  he 
found  P^re  Goriot  waiting  for  him. 


172 


Pere  Goriot. 


“See,”  said  the  old  man,  “here  is  a note  from  her, 
Hein  / what  pretty  writing ! ” 

Eugene  broke  the  seal  and  read : — 

Monsieur,  — My  father  tells  me  that  you  are  fond  oi 
Italian  music.  I should  be  happy  if  you  would  do  me  the 
pleasure  to  accept  a seat  in  my  box  on  Saturday  next.  We 
shall  have  Fodor  and  Pellegrini  ; I am  sure  therefore  that 
you  will  not  refuse  my  invitation.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen 
joins  me  in  begging  you  to  dine  with  us  on  that  day  without 
ceremony.  If  you  accept,  you  will  render  him  grateful  to  be 
released  from  his  conjugal  duty  of  escorting  me  to  the  opera. 
Do  not  reply,  but  come.  Accept  my  compliments. 

D.  de  N. 

“Let  me  look  at  it,”  said  Pere  Goriot  to  Eugene 
when  he  had  read  the  letter.  “You  will  certainly  go, 
won’t  you?  ” he  added,  putting  his  cheek  to  the  paper. 
“ How  good  it  smells  ! Her  fingers  have  touched  it !” 

“ A woman  does  not  fling  herself  at  a man  without 
some  motive,”  said  the  student  to  himself.  “ She 
must  want  to  make  use  of  me  to  get  de  Marsay  back 
again.  Nothing  but  spite  could  account  for  her  send- 
ing me  such  a letter.” 

“Well,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  “what  are  you  thinking 
of?” 

Eugene  knew  nothing  of  a social  delirium  that 
possessed  the  women  of  the  Chaussee  d’Antin  at  that 
period.  He  was  not  aware  that  the  wife  of  a banker 
in  that  quarter  would  do  almost  anything  that  might 
open  her  way  into  the  salons  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  At  that  period  fashion  was  just  beginning 
to  exalt  above  all  other  women  those  who  composed 
the  society  of  the  old  nobility,  known  by  the  name  of 


Pere  Groriot. 


173 


Les  Dames  du  petit  Chateau,  Among  them  Madame 
le  Beauseant,  her  friend  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  and 
he  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  held  the  first  rank.  Ras- 
ignac  was  the  only  man  with  an  entree  to  these  houses 
vho  was  not  aware  of  the  eagerness  of  the  Chaussee 
I’Antin  ladies  to  enter  that  superior  sphere  and  shine 
imong  its  constellations.  But  his  mistrustfulness  be- 
riended  him  on  this  occasion.  It  made  him  receive  the 
nvitation  very  coldly,  and  gave  him  the  poor  power  of 
loing  a favor  instead  of  accepting  bne. 

Yes,  I will  go,’’  he  said. 

Thus  the  chief  motive  that  took  him  to  Madame  de 
[^u'SngenVwas  curiosity ; had  she  shown  indifference, 
ie"  might  have  been  influenced  by  passion.  Never- 
Iieless,  he  looked  forward  to  the  meeting  with  some 
mpatience,  and  enjoyed,  as  he  dressed  for  dinner, 
ill  those  little  satisfactions  which  young  people  are 
ishamed  to  speak  of  for  fear  of  ridicule,  but  which 
3leasantly  stimulate  their  self-love.  He  thought  as 
le  arranged  his  hair  how  the  eyes  of  a pretty  woman 
would  linger  among  the  black  curls;  he  played  the 
iittle  tricks  and  vanities  of  a young  girl  dressing  for 
her  first  ball,  and  smiled  at  the  reflection  of  his  slim 
igure  as  he  smoothed  out  the  folds  of  his  new  coat, 
md  turned  himself  about  before  the  glass. 

‘‘  One  thing  is  very  certain,”  he  said  complacently  ; 

it  is  not  every  man  who  is  well-made.” 

He  went  downstairs  at  the  moment  when  the  house- 
hold were  sitting  down  to  dinner,  and  laughed  as  he 
received  a broadside  of  nonsensical  remarks  on  his 
lelegant  appearance.  The  excitement  produced  by  any 
attention  to  the  toilet  is  a trait  of  manners  peculiar  to 


174 


Pere  Groriot. 


pensions  bourgeoises^  where  every  one  has  a word  to 
say  on  the  unaccustomed  appearance  of  a new  dress  or 
a new  coat. 

‘‘  Kt,  kt,  kt,  kt ! ” cried  Bianchon,  clicking  his  tongue 
as  if  exciting  a horse. 

Duke  and  peer  of  France!”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ Monsieur  is  arrayed  for  conquest,”  observed  Ma- 
demoiselle Michonneau. 

Cock-a-doodle-doo  ! ” crowed  the  painter. 

My  compliments  to  your  wife,”  said  the  employe 
at  the  museum. 

‘‘  Has  Monsieur  a wife  ?”  asked  Poiret. 

‘‘  A wife  in  compartments  — that  will  go  in  the  wa- 
ter — warranted  fast  colors  — at  all  prices  from  twenty- 
five  to  forty  — the  most  fashionable  patterns  in  plaids  — 
sure  to  wash  — very  pretty  wear  — half  thread,  half 
cotton,  half  wool  — cures  the  toothache  and  all  other 
maladies  under  the  patronage  of  the  Academy  of 
Medicine  — excellent  for  children  — better  still  for 
head-ache,  plethora,  and  other  affections  of  the  stomach, 
ears,  and  eyes!  ” — cried  Vautrin,  with  the  intonation 
and  volubility  of  an  auctioneer.  ''  How  much  do  you 
bid  for  this  wonder,  gentlemen?  Two  sous!  What 
did  you  say?  Nothing?  It  is  the  last  article  made 
for  the  Great  Mogul,  which  all  the  Reigning  Sov- 
ereigns of  Europe,  including  the  Gr-r-r-r-r-rand  Duke 
of  Baden,  have  been  on  the  look-out  for.  W alk  in  ; 
keep  straight  before  you  ; pass  into  the  inner  office. 
Strike  up  the  music!  Brooum,  la,  la,  trinn ! la,  la, 
bourn,  bourn ! Monsieur  the  clarionet,  you  are  out 
of  tune,”  he  went  on  in  a hoarse  voice ; ‘‘  I ’ll  rap  you 
over  the  knuckles  ! ” 


Pere  Q-oriot. 


176 


“ Mon  Dieu!  how  agreeable  that  man  can  make 
limself!”  said  Madame  Vauquer  to  Madame  Couture, 
I should  never  have  a moment’s  ennui  if  I lived  with 
lim.” 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  the  jokes  led  off 
ly  this  absurdity,  Eugene  intercepted  a furtive  glance 
.f  admiration  from  Mademoiselle  Taillefer,  who  whis- 
>ered  a few  words  in  her  aunt’s  ear. 

“ The  cabriolet  is  here,”  announced  Sylvie. 

“Where  does  he  dine?”  asked  Bianchon. 

“ With  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Nucingen.” 

“ P^re  Goriot’s  daughter,”  added  the  student. 

At  these  words  everybody  looked  at  the  old  man, 
vho  was  gazing  at  Eugene  with  envy  in  his  eyes. 

Rastignac  found  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare 
)ne  of  those  flimsy  buildings,  with  slim  pillars  and  fan- 
jiful  porticos,  which  in  Paris  are  classed  as  pretty;  a 
banker’s  house,  in  short,  — overloaded  with  costly  orna- 
ment and  stucco,  the  halls  and  staircase-landings  inlaid 
vith  marbles.  Madame  de  Nucingen  received  him  in 
i small  room  filled  with  Italian  pictures  and  decorated 
n the  style  of  a restaurant.  She  seemed  to  be  in 
.rouble,  and  the  efforts  which  she  made  to  conceal  her 
reelings  afiected  Eugene  all  the  more  because  they 
were  evidently  genuine.  He  came  expecting  to  charm 
tier  by  his  presence ; he  found  her  the  image  of  des- 
pair, and  the  disappointment  piqued  his  self-love. 

“ I have  little  claim  to  your  confidence,  Madame,” 
he  said,  after  bantering  her  slightly  on  her  preoccupa- 
tion, “and  if  I am  in  your  way  I count  upon  your 
kindness  to  tell  me  so  frankly.” 


176 


Pere  G-oriot. 


No,  stay,”  she  said ; “ I should  be  alone  if  you  left 
me.  Nucingen  dines  out  to-day,  and  I do  not  wish  to 
be  alone.  I need  something  to  interest  me.” 

‘‘  What  troubles  you  ? ” 

You  are  the  last  person  I could  tell  it  to,”  she 
cried. 

“But  you  must  tell  me.  Have  I anything  to  do 
with  it?” 

“ Perhaps — But,  no  !”  she  resumed,  “it  is  one  of 
those  family  quarrels  that  ought  to  be  hidden  from 
other  eyes.  Did  I not  tell  you  the  other  evening  that 
I am  far  from  happy  ? A chain  of  gold  is  the  heaviest 
to  bear.” 

When  a woman  tells  a young  man  that  she  is  not 
happy,  and  when  the  young  man  is  clever,  handsome, 
well-dressed,  and  has  fifteen  hundred  francs  worth  of 
leisure  in  his  pocket,  he  will  probably  think  all  that 
Rastignac  now  thought,  and  speak  as  he  did,  — like  a 
coxcomb. 

“ What  can  you  lack  ?”  he  said.  “ You  are  young, 
beautiful,  wealthy,  and  — beloved ! ” 

“ Do  not  let  us  talk  of  myself,”  she  cried,  arresting 
him  with  a gesture.  “We  will  dine  together  tete-a-tUe^ 
and  then  go  and  hear  some  delicious  music.  Do  you 
like  me  in  this  dress  ? ” she  continued,  rising  and  dis- 
playing a robe  of  white  cashmere  embroidered  with 
Persian  designs,  very  elegant  and  costly. 

“ I would  you  were  altogether  mine  ! ” cried  Eugene. 
“ You  are  lovely !” 

“You  would  have  a melancholy  possession,”  she  said 
with  a bitter  smile.  “ Nothing  about  me  indicates! 
unhappiness,  and  yet  in  spite  of  appearances  I ami 


Pere  Goriot.  177 

i^rretched.  I cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  my  troubles. 

[ am  growing  ugly  — ’’ 

‘‘  Oh,  that  can  never  be  ! ’’  cried  the  student.  Tell 
ne,  what  troubles  have  you  that  my  devotion  cannot 
3ure  ? ” 

“ Ah ! if  I told  you,  you  would  turn  and  leave  me,” 
5he  said ; “ your  love  for  me  is  only  the  conventional 
gallantry  that  men  affect  towards  women.  If  you 
'eally  loved  me,  and  I were  to  tell  you  my  troubles 
^ou  would  fall  into  despair.  So  you  see  I must  not 
:ell  you.  For  pity’s  sake,”  she  added,  ‘4et  us  talk  of 
Dther  things.  Come  and  see  my  apartments.” 

No,  let  us  stay  here,”  said  Eugkie,  seating  himself 
m a low  couch  near  the  fire  beside  Madame  de  Nucin- 
^en,  and  taking  her  hand  with  assurance.  She  allowed 
him  to  do  so,  and  even  pressed  his  fingers  with  the  ner- 
v^ous  grasp  that  betrays  strong  emotion. 

“ Listen ! ” said  Rastignac,  if  you  have  griefs,  con- 
fide them  to  me.  Let  me  prove  how  much  I love  you. 
Either  speak,  and  tell  me  these  troubles  and  let  me  help 
^ou,  — I am  capable  of  killing  six  men  for  your  sake,  — > 
or  I will  leave  this  house  never  to  return.” 

‘‘  Well,  then  ! ” she  exclaimed,  moved  by  an  impulse 
which  made  her  strike  her  forehead  with  her  hand,  I 
will  put  you  to  the  proof  at  once.  Yes,”  she  added, 
“ there  is  no  other  way.” 

She  rang  the  bell. 

‘‘  Is  Monsieur’s  carriage  waiting  ? ” she  said  to  the 
servant. 

“ Yes,  Madame.” 

“ I will  take  it.  You  can  give  him  mine  and  my 
horses.  You  need  not  serve  dinner  till  seven  o’clock.” 

12 


178 


Pere  GorioL 


‘‘  Now,  come,”  she  said  to  Eugene,  who  found  himself 
as  in  a dream  sitting  beside  her  in  Monsieur  de  Nuein- 
gen’s  coupe. 

“ To  the  Palais-Royal,”  she  said  to  the  coachman, 
and  stop  near  the  Theatre  Frangais.” 

As  they  drove  on  she  seemed  greatly  agitated,  and 
would  not  answer  Eugene,  who  knew  not  what  to 
think  of  the  mute  obtuse  resistance  she  opposed  to  his 
inquiries. 

“ In  another  moment  she  may  escape  me,”  he  said  to 
himself. 

When  the  carriage  stopped,  she  looked  at  him  with 
an  expression  which  silenced  the  foolish  speeches  he 
was  beginning  to  utter. 

‘‘  Do  you  love  me  then  so  very  much  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Yes,”  he  replied,  concealing  his  uneasiness. 

“You  will  think  no  evil  of  me  whatever  I ask  of 
you  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Will  you  obey  me?” 

“ Blindly.” 

“ Did  you  ever  go  to  a gambling-house  ? ” and  her 
voice  trembled. 

“ Never.” 

“Ah!  then  I breathe.  You  will  have  luck.  Here 
is  my  purse.  Take  it,”  she  said,  “ yes,  take  it.  There 
are  one  hundred  francs  in  it,  — all  the  money  owned 
by  this  wealthy  and  fortunate  woman ! Go  into 
some  gambling-room.  I do  not  know  where  they 
are,  but  I know  there  are  many  in  the  Palais-Royal. 
Stake  these  hundred  francs  at  a game  they  call  rou- 
lette, and  either  lose  them  all  or  bring  me  back  six 


179 


Pere  Croriot. 

thousand  francs.  I will  tell  you  my  troubles  when 
y^ou  return.” 

“ The  devil  take  me  if  I understand  what  you  wish 
me  to  do,  but  I am  ready  to  obey  you,”  he  said,  reflect- 
ing with  satisfaction  that  she  was  thus  putting  herself 
in  his  power. 

He  took  the  pretty  purse  and  hastened  to  Number 
Nine,  'after  obtaining  from  a neighboring  shopkeeper 
the  direction  of  the  nearest  gambling-house.  He  went 
upstairs,  permitted  an  attendant  to  take  his  hat,  and 
entered  the  room,  where  he  asked  to  be  shown  the 
roulette.  All  present  looked  astonished  as  the  man  in 
attendance  took  him  to  a long  table.  Eugene,  who 
was  followed  by  the  whole  company,  asked,  without 
the  least  embarrassment,  where  he  was  to  place  his 
money. 

If  you  put  one  louis  on  any  of  these  thirty-six  num- 
bers and  it  comes  up,  you  will  win  thirty-six  louis^  said 
a respectable-looking  old  man  with  white  hair. 

Eugene  placed  the  whole  hundred  francs  on  the 
number  of  his  own  age,  — twenty-one.  A cry  of  aston- 
ishment broke  from  every  one  before  he  knew  himself 
what  had  happened.  He  had  won. 

“ Take  up  your  money,”  said  the  old  gentleman ; 
“ people  do  not  win  twice,  in  that  way.” 

Eugene  took  a rake  which  the  speaker  handed  to 
him,  and  drew  in  three  thousand  six  hundred  francs. 
Once  more,  knowing  nothing  of  the  game,  he  placed 
his  money  on  the  red.  The  bystanders  looked  at  him 
with  envy,  seeing  that  he  played  on.  I he  wheel  turned, 
— he  won  again ; and  the  croupier  threw  him  another 
three  thousand  six  hundred  francs. 


180 


Pere  Goriot, 


You  have  won  seven  thousand  two  hundred  francs,” 
whispered  the  old  gentleman.  “ Take  my  advice  and 
go  away.  The  red  has  come  up  eight  times.  If  you 
are  kind-hearted,  you  will  acknowledge  my  good  ad- 
vice and  have  pity  on  the  poverty  of  an  old  prefect 
of  Napoleon,  who  is  penniless.” 

Rastignac,  bewildered,  suffered  the  old  man  with  the 
snow-white  hair  to  help  himself  to  ten  louis^  and  then 
went  downstairs  with  his  seven  thousand  francs,  under- 
standing nothing  of  the  game,  and  stupefied  by  his 
good  fortune. 

ga!  where  will  you  take  me  now?”  he  said, 
showing  the  seven  thousand  francs  to  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen  as  soon  as  the  carriage  door  was  shut. 

Delphine  threw  her  arms  about  him  and  kissed  him 
effusively,  but  without  passion. 

You  have  saved  me ! ” she  cried.  Tears  fiowed 
down  her  cheeks.  I will  tell  you  all,  my  friend,  — 
for  you  are  my  friend,  are  you  not?  You  see  me 
rich  and  prosperous.  I want  for  nothing  — so  it  seems 
to  you?  Well,  then,  1 must  tell  you  that  Monsieur  de 
Nucingen  does  not  give  me  a single  penny  to  spend  as 
I choose.  He  pays  for  everything,  — for  the  household, 
for  rny  carriages,  even  my  opera-box.  He  allows  me 
a sum  insufficient  for  my  toilette  ; he  has  reduced  me 
to  secret  poverty.  I am  too  proud  to  beg  for  money. 
Do  you  ask  why,  when  I brought  him  seven  hundred 
thousand  francs,  I have  suffered  myself  to  be  thus 
despoiled?  Through  pride,  through  indignation!  A 
girl  is  so  young,  so  easily  deceived,  when  she  is  first 
married.  To  have  asked  my  husband  for  money  then 
would  have  scorched  my  mouth ; I dared  not.  I lived 


P^re  Croriot. 


181 


in  what  I had  saved,  and  on  what  I could  get  from  my 
poor  father.  Then  I ran  in  debt.  My  marriage  from 
Srst  to  last  has  been  a horrible  deception ; I cannot 
speak  of  it.  We  live  apart ; I would  rather  fling  my- 
self  from  a window  than  be  reconciled  to  him.  When 
I was  forced  to  tell  him  of  my  debts,  for  jewelry  and 
various  whims  and  trifles  (my  poor  father  had  accus- 
tomed us  to  every  indulgence),  I sufiered  martyrdom. 
At  last  I took  courage  and  made  my  confession  — had 
I not  brought  him  a fortune?  Nucingen  was  furi- 
ous. He  said  I should  ruin  him  — Oh ! he  said  such 
horrible  things!  I wished  myself  a hundred  feet 
under  ground.  He  paid  my  bills  on  that  occasion  be- 
cause he  had  possession  of  my  dot ; but  he  stipulated 
that  in  future  I should  take  a fixed  annual  allowance 
for  my  personal  expenses.  I agreed,  for  the  sake  of 
peace.  Since  then  I have  been  anxious  to  do  credit 
to  one  whom  you  know  of,”  she  continued.  “ He  has 
not  been  true  to  me,  but  I must  not  cease  to  do  justice 
to  the  nobleness  of  his  character.  He  has  cruelly  for- 
saken me.  Oh  ! no  one  should  forsake  a woman,  es- 
pecially when  they  have  flung  her  a pile  of  money  in 
the  day  of  her  distress—  oh  ! they  ought  to  love  her 
always.  You,  with  the  nobility  of  youth,  pure  and 
fresh,  you  may  well  ask  me  how  a woman  could  take 
gold  from  a man  in  that  relation!  But  is  it  not  natu- 
ral to  have  all  things  in  common  with  those  to  whom 
we  owe  our  happiness?  Money  has  no  importance 
in  itself,  — none,  until  love  grows  cold.  Do  we  not 
fancy  that  love  will  last  a lifetime  ? Who  calculates 
on  separation?  Shall  those  who  have  vowed  to  be 
true  eternally  set  up  divided  interests?  I can  never 


182 


Pere  Goriot. 


tell  what  I suffered  to-day  when  Nucingen  refused  to 
give  me  six  thousand  francs,  — less  than  he  gives  each 
month  to  his  mistress,  a danseuse  at  the  opel'a!  I 
longed  to  kill  myself : I envied  my  own  waiting-maid. 
Ask  my  father  for  money  ? — it  would  be  madness. 
Anastasie  and  I have  ruined  him.  My  poor  father 
would  sell  himself  for  either  of  us,  if  any  one  would 
pay  six  thousand  francs  for  him.  I should  drive  him 
to  despair  in  vain.  You  have  saved  me  from  shame, 
from  death  ! I was  frantic  in  my  wretchedness.  Ah ! 
Monsieur,  I owe  you  this  explanation.  I have  been 
beside  myself  this  evening,  — let  that  be  my  excuse. 
When  you  left  me,  when  I lost  sight  of  you,  I had  an 
impulse  to  jump  from  the  carriage  and  flee  away  on 
foot,  I knew  not  whither.  Such  is  the  life  led  by  half 
the  women  of  Paris,  — luxury  without,  and  bitter  cares 
within.  I know  poor  creatures  more  wretched  than  I 
am.  There  are  women  who  get  their  creditors  to  send 
in  false  accounts,  and  rob  their  husbands.  Some  men 
believe  that  cashmeres  worth  two  thousand  francs  are 
sold  for  five  hundred ; others  that  a shawl  worth  five 
hundred  francs  costs  a thousand.  There  are  women 
who  even  starve  their  children ; women  who  will  com- 
mit any  meanness  to  get  enough  to  buy  a gown.  I 
im  pure  at  least  from  such  deceptions.  Ah ! to-night 
Monsieur  de  Marsay  will  no  longer  have  the  right  to 
think  of  me  as  a woman  he  has  paid ! ” She  dropped 
her  face  between  her  hands  that  Eugene  might  not 
see  her  tears;  but  he  drew  them  away  and  looked 
at  her. 

‘‘To  mix  up  money  with  love ! — is  it  not  horrible 
yhe  said.  “ You  can  never  think  well  of  me  !” 


Pere  Groriot,  183 


This  union  of  good  feelings  and  acquired  faults,  — 
faults  forced  upon  her  by  the  corrupt  society  in  which 
she  lived,  — overcame  Eugene,  who  said  soft  words  of 
consolation  as  he  gazed  at  the  beautiful  creature  so 
naively  imprudent  in  the  excitement  of  her  grief. 

“ You  will  not  turn  this  confession  against  me  ? 
Promise  me  that  you  never  will,”  she  said. 

Ah,  Madame,  I am  incapable  of  doing  so.” 

She  took  his  hand  and  placed  it  on  her  heart,  with  a 
gesture  full  of  grace  and  gratitude.  Thanks  to  you 
I am  free  and  happy.  I was  pressed  to  earth  by  an 
iron  hand.  I am  free  ; I will  live  simply  from  this 
moment ; I will  spend  little.  You  will  like  me  as  I am, 
will  you  not?  — as  I am,  my  friend.  Keep  this,”  she 
added,  retaining  six  notes  of  a thousand  francs,  and 
offering  Rastignac  the  seventh.  Tn  strict  justice  I 
owe  you  half,  for  I consider  that  we  are  partners.” 

Eugene  protested  with  a sense  of  shame,  till  Madame 
de  Nucingen  exclaimed,  shall  regard  you  as  my 
enemy  if  you  refuse  to  be  my  accomplice.” 

Then  I will  hold  it  in  reserve  in  case  of  future  ill- 
luck,”  he  said,  as  he  took  the  note. 

‘‘  Ah ! that  is  what  I feared,”  she  said,  turning  pale. 

If  you  wish  me  to  be  your  friend,  promise  me  — 
swear  to  me  — that  you  will  never  return  to  the  gam- 
bling table.  Alas,  alas ! think  of  my  corrupting  you  ! 
I ought  to  perish  sooner ! ” 

Thus  they  reached  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare. 
The  contrast  of  its  opulence  with  the  poverty  of  its 
mistress  stunned  the  student,  in  whose  ears  the  words 


184 


Pere  Goriot. 


a sofa  near  the  fire,  when  they  entered  her  room.  1 
have  to  write  a trying  letter.  Give  me  your  advice.” 

“ Do  not  write  at  all,”  said  Eugene.  ‘‘  Put  the  notes 
in  an  envelope,  address  it  merely,  and  send  the  letter 
by  your  waiting-maid.” 

“Oh!  you  are  too  delightful!”  she  cried.  “See, 
Monsieur,  what  it  is  to  have  been  brought  up  in  the 
traditions  of  good  breeding.  Ceci  est  du  Peauseant 
tout  pur she  added,  smiling. 

“She  is  charming,”  thought  Eugene,  pleased  with 
the  flattery.  He  looked  round  the  room,  which  was 
arranged  with  a meretricious  taste  better  suited,  he 
thought,  to  the  quartier  Breda. 

“Do  you  like  it?”  asked  Madame  de  ISTucingen, 
ringing  for  her  maid.  “ Therese,  take  this  letter  to 
Monsieur  de  Marsay.  Give  it  into  his  own  hand.  If 
you  do  not  find  him,  bring  it  back.” 

As  Therese  left  the  room  she  threw  an  inquisitive 
glance  at  Eugene.  Dinner  was  now  served,  and 
Rastignac  gave  his  arm  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  who 
led  him  into  a gorgeous  dining-room  where  he  again 
found  all  the  table  luxury  he  had  admired  at  his 
cousin’s. 

“ On  the  nights  of  the  Italian  opera  you  must 
always  dine  with  me,”  she  said,  “ and  escort  me  to  the 
theatre.” 

“ I could  soon  accustom  myself  to  so  delightful  a 
life  if  it  would  only  last,”  he  answered ; “ but  I am 
a poor  student,  with  my  fortune  to  make,” 

“It  will  make  itself,”  she  said  laughing;  “you  see 
how  things  come  to  pass.  I little  expected  to  be  so 
happy.” 


Pere  Goriot. 


186 


It  is  the  nature  of  women  to  argue  the  impossible 
Vom  the  possible,  and  to  destroy  facts  by  building  on 
)resentiments. 

When  Madame  de  Nucingen  and  Rastignac  entered 
beir  box  at  the  opera  she  was  so  beautiful  in  her 
•ecovered  peace  of  mind  that  people  began  to  whisper 
bose  trifling  calumnies  against  which  women  are 
iefenceless,  however  false  may  be  the  premises  on 
vhich  they  are  based.  Those  who  know  Paris  well 
ire  careful  to  believe  nothing  that  they  hear,  and  also 
:o  tell  nothing  that  they  know.  Eugene  took  the 
land  of  his  companion,  and  they  silently  communicated 
:o  each  other  by  pressure  the  sensations  with  which 
be  music  flooded  their  souls.  The  evening  was  full  of 
mchantment,  and  when  they  left  the  Opera  House 
Madame  de  Nucingen  insisted  on  taking  Eugene  as 
far  as  the  Pont-Neuf,  disputing  with  him  on  the  way 
mother  of  those  kisses  which  she  had  given  him  of  her 
iwn  accord  in  the  Palais-Royal.  Eugene  reproached 
fier  for  the  inconsistency. 

«No  — she  said,  ‘‘it  was  gratitude  for  an 

unexpected  deliverance;  now  it  would  be  a pledge  — ” 

“ And  you  will  not  grant  me  that  pledge,”  he  said, 
fialf  angrily.  She  made  a gesture  of  impatience  and 
^ave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  which  he  took  with  an  ill 
^race  that  completely  charmed  her. 

“ Monday  — at  the  ball,”  she  said  as  they  parted. 

Eugene  walked  home  in  the  brilliant  moonlight 
with  his  mind  full  of  serious  reflections.  He  was 
pleased  and  yet  dissatisfled : pleased  at  an  adventure 
which  threw  him  into  the  closest  intimacy  with  one  of 
the  prettiest  and  most  fashionable  women  of  Paris  | 


186 


Pere  Goriot. 


dissatisfied  at  seeing  his  projects  for  the  future  over-* 
thrown,  — for  he  now  perceived  how  much  he  had 
really  built  upon  the  vague  visions  of  the  day  before. 
Want  of  success  increases  rather  than  diminishes  the 
strength  of  our  wishes.  The  more  Eugene  tasted  the 
pleasures  of  Parisian  life,  the  less  he  liked  the  prospect 
of  toil  and  poverty.  He  fingered  the  bank-note  in  his 
pocket,  and  thought  of  a hundred  reasons  to  justify 
him  in  keeping  it.  As  he  reached  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve  and  ran  upstairs,  he  saw  a light  on 
the  landing.  Pere  Goriot  had  left  his  door  ajar  and 
his  rush-light  burning,  that  the  student  might  not 
forget  to  come  in  and  relate  to  him  his  daughter^  as  he 
expressed  it.  Eugene  told  him  everything. 

What ! ” cried  Pere  Goriot,  in  a transport  of 
jealous  despair,  ‘‘do  they  think  me  ruined?  I have 
still  an  income  of  thirteen  hundred  francs.  Mon 
Dieu  ! my  poor  darling,  why  did  she  not  come  to  me  ? 
I could  have  sold  out  my  stocks.  I could  have  given 
her  what  she  wanted  from  the  capital,  and  bought  an 
annuity  with  the  rest.  Why  did  you  not  come  and 
tell  me,  my  good  neighbor  ? How  could  you  have  had 
the  heart  to  risk  her  poor  little  hundred  francs.  It 
breaks  my  heart  — This  is  what  it  is  to  have  sons- 
in-law ! And  she  wept  — you  say  she  wept? — my 
Delphine,  who  never  wept  before  when  she  was  my 
own  little  one  I By  her  marriage  contract  she  is 
entitled  to  her  money.  I shall  see  Derville  the  law- 
yer, to-morrow.  I shall  insist  on  the  separate  invest- 
ment of  her  fortune.  I know  the  law.  I am  an  old 
wolf  — yes ! and  I shall  get  the  use  of  my  teeth 
again ! ” 


Pere  Goriot, 


187 


See,  pere^  here  are  a thousand  francs  which  she 
insisted  on  giving  me  out  of  our  winnings.  Keep 
them  for  her.” 

Goriot  looked  at  Eugene  and  grasped  his  hand,  on 
^hich  the  old  man  dropped  a tear. 

‘‘  You  will  succeed  in  life,”  he  said.  ‘‘God  is  just, 
^ou  know.  I know  what  honesty  is,  and  I tell  you 
tew  men  would  have  done  as  you  have  done.  My  son, 
yo  now;  go  — and  sleep.  You  can  sleep,  for  you  are 
[lot  yet  a father  — Oh,  she  wept ! While  I was 
juietly  eating  my  dinner,  dull  fool  that  I am,  she  was 
offering!  I — who  would  sell  my  soul  to  save  them 
trom  unhappiness  ! ” 

“ On  my  honor,”  said  Eugene,  as  he  laid  his  head 
3n  his  pillow,  “ I will  be  an  honest  man  as  long  as  I 
ive.  There  is  great  happiness  in  following  the  in- 
spirations of  one’s  conscience.” 

Perhaps  none  but  those  who  believe  in  a good  God 
3an  do  good  in  secret.  Eugene  was  a believer  still. 

On  the  evening  of  the  ball  Rastignac  went  to 
Madame  de  Beauseant’s,  who  took  him  with  her  and 
presented  him  to  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano.  He  had 
i gracious  reception  from  the  Marechale,  and  found 
Madame  de  Nucingen  already  there.  Delphine,  who 
lad  dressed  with  the  intention  of  pleasing  others  that 
she  might  the  better  please  Eugene,  waited  impatiently 
jO  catch  his  eye,  though  carefully  concealing  her  im- 
patience. For  one  who  can  read  a woman’s  heart 
such  a moment  is  full  of  charm.  What  man  does  not 
lelight  in  making  a woman  wait  eagerly  for  his 
udgment,  disguising  his  own  pleasure  that  he  may 


188 


Pere  Groriot. 


win  this  signal  of  her  preference,  enjoying  her  uneasi- 
ness as  he  plays  upon  the  fears  he  can  set  at  rest  by  a 
smile  ? 

As  the  evening  advanced,  Rastignac  began  to  per- 
ceive the  full  bearings  of  his  position,  and  to  under- 
stand that  he  held  rank  among  those  around  him  as 
the  acknowledged  cousin  of  Madame  de  Beauseant. 
The  conquest  of  Madame  de  Nucingen,  with  which  he 
was  credited,  placed  him  at  once  under  observation ; 
young  men  looked  at  him  with  envy,  and  as  he  caught 
their  glances  he  tasted  the  first  sweets  of  gratified 
social  vanity.  Passing  from  room  to  room  and  from 
group  to  group,  he  heard  his  own  praises ; ladies  pre- 
dicted his  success  ; and  Delphine,  afraid  of  losing  him, 
promised  not  to  refuse  the  kiss  she  had  denied  him  the 
day  before.  He  received  several  invitations  during 
the  evening,  and  was  presented  by  his  cousin  to  a num- 
ber of  ladies  noted  for  their  elegance,  whose  houses 
ranked  among  the  most  agreeable  in  the  Faubourg. 
Thus  he  found  himself  admitted  into  the  inner  circle 
of  the  great  world  of  Paris.  This  evening  was  for 
him  a brilliant  dehu%  remembered  to  the  last  hour  of 
his  life,  as  a young  girl  remembers  the  ball  where  she 
won  her  first  triumphs. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  breakfast-table,  when  he 
began  to  relate  his  successes  to  Pere  Goriot  in  pre- 
sence of  the  other  guests,  Vautrin  listened  with  diabol- 
ical amusement  to  the  tale. 

“Now,  do  you  really  think,”  exclaimed  that  fierce 
logician,  “ that  a young  man  of  fashion  can  continue  to 
live  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  in  the  Maisonj 
Vauquer?  — a pension  infinitely  respectable  in  every  { 


Pere  Goriot. 


189 


way,  no  doubt,  but  which  assuredly  is  not  fashiona- 
ble. It  is  comfortable,  it  is  cosey,  delightful  in  its  abun- 
dance, proud  of  being  temporarily  the  abode  of  a de 
Rastignac;  but  after  all  it  is  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte- 
Genevieve,  and  it  boasts  no  luxury,  — being  above  all 
things  patriarchalorama.  My  young  friend,”  contin- 
ued Vautrin,  with  paternal  irony,  ‘‘if  you  hope  to 
make  a figure  in  Paris,  you  must  have  three  horses 
and  a tilbury  for  the  morning,  and  a coupe  for  the 
evening : nine  thousand  francs  for  the  equipages  alone. 
You  will  fall  shamefully  below  the  requirements  of 
your  destiny  if  you  spend  less  than  three  thousand 
with  your  tailor,  six  hundred  with  your  perfumer, 
and  six  hundred  more  between  your  bootmaker  and 
your  hatter.  As  for  your  washerwoman,  she  will 
cost  you  a thousand  francs.  Young  men  of  fash- 
ion are  above  all  things  bound  to  be  irreproachable 
in  the  matter  of  washing.  Love  and  the  Church 
alike  demand  fine  linen.  Now,  we  have  got  up  to 
fourteen  thousand.  I don’t  count  all  that  cards  and 
bets  and  presents  will  cost  you,  — you  certainly  can’t 
do  with  less  than  two  thousand  francs  a year  for 
pocket-money.  I have  led  that  life  myself,  and  I 
know  how  it  goes.  Now,  add  to  these  things  — which 
are  indispensable,  mind  you  — three  hundred  louis  for 
subsistence,  and  a thousand  francs  for  rent.  That 
brings  us  up,  my  boy,  to  the  pretty  little  sum  of  twen- 
ty-five thousand  francs  a year,  which  we  must  have  in 
hand,  or  over  we  go  into  the  mud,  with  people  laugh- 
ing at  us,  and  our  future  lost,  — including  all  our 
youthful  dreams  of  fortune  and  women  ! Ah  ! I forgot 
the  groom  and  the  valet.  Could  Christophe  carry 


190 


Pere  Groriot. 


your  'billets-doux'^  Shall  you  write  them  upon  law- 
paper?  My  dear  boy,  you  would  cut  your  throat. 
Take  the  advice  of  an  old  man  full  of  experience,”  he 
concluded ; ‘‘  either  transport  yourself  into  a virtuous 
garret  and  wed  toil,  or  — choose  some  other  way  to 
reach  your  end.” 

Here  Vautrin  glanced  at  Mademoiselle  Taillefer, 
with  an  eye  that  recalled  and  emphasized  the  seduc- 
tive arguments  he  had  already  dropped  into  the  stu« 
dent’s  heart  to  breed  corruption. 


Pere  Groriot, 


193 


XII. 

Several  days  passed,  and  Rastignac  led  a dissipated 
life.  He  dined  constantly  with  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen,  and  accompanied  her  into  the  great  woild, 
getting  home  at  three  or  four  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
He  usually  rose  at  midday  and  made  his  toilet ; after 
which,  if  it  were  fine,  he  drove  to  the  Bois  with  Del- 
phine,  — idling  away  his  days  without  thought  of  their 
value,  and  assimilating  the  lessons  and  seductions  of 
luxury  with  the  eagerness  of  the  female  date-tree  as  it 
absorbs  the  fecundating  pollen  from  the  atmosphere, 
He  played  high,  lost  and  won  heavily,  and  soon  accus- 
tomed himself  to  the  extravagant  habits  of  the  young 
men  around  him.  Out  of  the  first  money  which  he 
won  he  sent  fifteen  hundred  francs  to  his  mother  and 
sisters,  accompanying  the  restitution  with  some  pretty 
presents.  Although  he  had  given  out  his  intention  to 
quit  the  Maison  V auquer,  he  was  still  there  in  the  last 
week  of  January,  and  did  not  well  see  how  he  could 
get  away.  Young  men  are  governed  by  a law  that 
seems  at  first  sight  inexplicable,  but  which  springs 
from  their  youth  and  from  the  species  of  madness  with 
which  they  fling  themselves  into  the  enjoyments  of 
life,  (^e  they  rich  or  be  they  poor,  they  never  have 
money  enough  for  the  necessities  of  living,  though 
they  always  find  the  wherewithal  to  spend  on  their 
caprices.  ; Lavish  when  they  can  buy  on  credit,  stingy 


192 


Pere  Goriot. 


as  to  all  that  they  must  pay  for  in  hard  cash,  they 
seem  to  indemnify  themselves  for  the  lack  of  what  they 
crave  by  squandering  what  they  have.  Thus,  — by 
way  of  illustration,  — a student  takes  more  care  of  his 
hat  than  he  does  of  his  coat.  The  enormous  profit  of 
the  tailor  makes  it  reasonable  that  he  should  wait  for 
his  moneys;  but  the  small  gains  of  a hatter  render  him 
impervious  to  the  question  of  credit.  Though  the 
young  man  sitting  in  the  balcon  of  a theatre  may  dis- 
play to  the  opera-glasses  of  pretty  women  the  most 
magnificent  of  waistcoats,  no  one  can  be  certain  that 
his  socks  would  bear  inspection  : the  hosier  is  one  of 
those  who  must  be  paid  in  ready  money.  Rastignac 
had  reached  this  point  in  his  career.  His  purse,  always 
empty  for  Madame  Vauquer,  always  full  for  the  needs 
of  vanity,  had  its  ups  and  downs,  its  ebbs  and  flows, 
which  by  no  means  agreed  with  the  natural  demands 
upon  it.  Before  quitting  that  abject  and  evil-smelling 
abode,  where  his  new  pretensions  were  daily  humili- 
ated, must  he  not  pay  a month’s  lodging  to  his  land- 
lady, and  buy  furniture  fit  for  a man  of  fashion  before 
he  could  install  himself  in  a new  apartment?  This 
remained  steadfastly  the  thing  impossible.  To  get 
money  for  the  gambling-table,  Rastignac  had  readily 
found  out  how  to  buy  watches  and  chains  from  his 
jeweller  at  enormous  prices,  to  be  paid  for  out  of  his 
winnings,  and  to  be  pawned  as  soon  as  bought  with 
that  solemn  and  discreet  friend  of  youth,  the  Mont-de- 
Piete;  but  his  ingenuity  had  failed  to  discover  any 
device  whereby  to  pay  Madame  Vauquer,  or  to  buy 
the  tools  necessary  to  keep  up  his  life  of  elegance  and 
fashion.  Vulgar  present  necessity,  or  the  debts  con- 


Pire  Q-oridt. 


193 


tracted  for  past  pleasures,  gave  him  no  inspiration. 
Like  most  of  those  who  lead  this  life  of  chance,  he  put 
oif  as  long  as  possible  paying  his  current  debts  (which 
are  the  most  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  plain  people),  after 
the  example  of  Mirabeau,  who  never  paid  his  baker’s 
bill  till  it  took  the  compelling  form  of  a promissory  note. 
At  this  special  time  — the  last  of  J anuary  — Rastignac 
had  been  losing  heavily,  and  was  in  debt.  He  was 
beginning  to  see  that  he  could  not  continue  to  lead 
this  kind  of  life  without  fixed  resources.  But  sighing 
over  the  difficulties  of  his  precarious  position  did  not 
bring  him  to  resign  the  pleasures  bf  the  great  world  ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  felt  incapable  of  the  sacrifice,  and 
resolute  to  push  on  at  any  price.  The  chances  on 
which  at  first  he  had  built  his  hopes  of  fortune  he 
now  saw  to  be  chimerical,  while  his  real  difficulties 
grew  greater  every  day.  As  he  became  familiar  with 
the  domestic  secrets  of  Monsieur- and  Madame  de  Ru- 
cingen,  he  saw  that  to  convert  love  into  an  instrument 
of  fortune  it  was  necessary  to  drink  the  cup  of  shame 
to  the  very  dregs,  and  renounce  forever  all  those  noble 
ideas  which  are  the  absolution  of  youthful  errors.  To 
this  life,  outwardly  splendid,  inwardly  gnawed  by  the 
tcenias  of  remorse,  and  whose  fugitive  pleasures  were 
dearly  paid  for  by  persistent  anguish,  he  was  now 
wedded.  Like  La  Bruyk-e’s  absent-minded  man,  he 
had  made  his  bed  in  the  slime  of  the  ditch ; but,  like 
him  again,  he  had  as  yet  only  soiled  his  clothes. 

“ Well ! have  we  killed  the  mandarin  ? ” said  Bian- 
chon  one  day  as  they  rose  from  table. 

“ Not  yet,”  he  answered,  “ but  he  is  at  his  death- 

rattle.” 


13 


194 


Pere  Groriot. 


The  medical  student  took  this  for  a joke,  but  he  was 
mistaken.  Eugene,  who  had  dined  that  day  at  the 
pension  after  a long  absence,  seemed  thoughtful  and 
preoccupied.  Instead  of  leaving  after  the  dessert,  he 
remained  in  the  dining-room  sitting  near  Mademoiselle 
Taillefer,  on  whom  from  time  to  time  he  threw  reflect- 
ing glances.  Some  of  the  guests  still  lingered  at  table 
eating  nuts ; others  were  walking  up  and  down  con 
tinning  their  conversation.  They  left  the  room,  as  they 
did  every  evening,  each  as  he  pleased,  according  to  the 
interest  he  took  in  the  conversation  or  the  amount  of 
rest  required  by  his  digestion.  In  winter  the  dining- 
room was  seldom  empty  before  eight  o’clock ; after 
which  hour  the  four  women  remained  alone  and  made 
up  for  the  silence  imposed  upon  them  by  the  masculine 
majority.  Struck  by  Eugene’s  preoccupation,  Vautrin, 
who  at  first  had  seemed  in  a hurry  to  get  away,  stayed 
after  the  others  had  departed,  and  placed  himself  cau- 
tiously just  within  the  door  of  the  salon,  so  that  Eugene 
could  not  see  him,  and  might  therefore  believe  him 
gone.  He  read  the  mind  of  the  student,  and  saw  that 
a crisis  was  at  hand. 

Rastignac  was  in  fact  in  a difficult  though  perhaps 
not  uncommon  position.  Whether  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen  loved  him  or  was  trifling  with  him,  she  had  made 
him  pass  through  the  fluctuations  of  a real  passion, 
and  had  used  against  him  all  the  resources  at  the 
command  of  Parisian  feminine  dqflomacy.  Having 
compromised  herself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  se- 
cure the  devotion  of  a cousin  of  Madame  de  Beause- 
ant,  she  now  repelled  his  advances  and  would  go  no 
further.  For  a month  she  had  coquetted  with  his 


Pere  Groriot. 


195 


feelings,  and  had  ended  by  gaining  some  power  over 
his  heart.  If  in  the  first  hours  of  their  intimacy  the 
student  had  been  master  of  the  situation,  Madame  de 
Nucingen  was  now  the  stronger  of  the  two.  She  had 
contrived  by  skilful  management  to  excite  in  Rastignac 
the  varied  feelings,  good  and  bad,  of  the  two  or  three 
men  who  exist  in  a young  Parisian.  Was  this  from 
calculation?  No,  women  are  always  true  even  in  the 
midst  of  their  utmost  falsity ; they  are  true,  because 
they  are  influenced  by  native  feeling.  Perhaps  Del- 
phine,  alarmed  at  the  power  she  had  at  first  allowed 
Eugene  to  assume  over  her,  and  at  the  unguarded  con- 
fidence she  had  shown  him,  was  prompted  by  a feeling 
of  dignity  to  assume  reserve.  She  may  have  hesitated 
before  her  fall,  and  have  sought  to  test  the  character 
of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  about  to  commit  her 
future,  having  already  had  good  reason  to  distrust  the 
faith  of  lovers.  Perhaps  she  had  noticed  in  Eugene’s 
manner  — for  his  rapid  success  had  greatly  increased 
his  self-conceit  — a certain  disrespect  caused  by  the 
singularities  of  their  situation.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
whatever  were  her  reasons,  Eugene  had  made  no  pro- 
gress with  her  since  the  first  days  of  their  intercourse. 
He  grew  irritable,  his  self-love  was  deeply  wounded  ; 
he  was  like  a sportsman  jealous  for  the  honor  of  Saint- 
Hubert  if  a partridge  is  not  killed  on  the  first  day  of 
the  sport.  His  angry  self-conceit,  his  futile  hopes, 
were  they  false  or  real,  and  his  daily  anxieties  bound 
him  more  and  more  to  this  woman.  Yet  sometimes 
when  he  found  himself  penniless  and  without  prospects, 
his  mind  turned,  in  defiance  of  his  conscience,  to  the 
chance  Vautrin  had  held  out  to  him  through  a marriage 


196 


Pere  Croriot, 


with  Mademoiselle  Taillefer.  There  were  days  when 
his  poverty  was  so  importunate  that  he  yielded  almost 
involuntarily  to  the  snare  of  the  terrible  sphinx ^ whose 
glance  dominated  him  with  a dangerous  fascination. 

When  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  had 
gone  up  to  their  rooms,  Rastignac,  believing  himself 
alone  between  Madame  Vauquer  and  Madame  Couture, 
the  latter  of  whom  was  knitting  herself  a pair  of  muf. 
fetees  and  dozing  by  the  stove,  turned  to  Mademoiselle 
Taillefer  with  a glance  sufficiently  tender  to  make  her 
eyes  droop. 

Is  anything  troubling  you.  Monsieur  Eugene  ? ” she 
said,  after  a slight  pause, 

‘‘ Who  is  without  trouble?”  he  replied.  Yet  per- 
haps if  we  young  men  were  sure  of  being  truly  loved, 
with  a devotion  that  would  compensate  us  for  the 
sacrifices  we  are  ready  to  make,  we  should  have  no 
troubles.” 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  for  all  answer  gave  him  a 
look  whose  meaning  was  unmistakable. 

“ Even  you,  Mademoiselle,  who  are  so  sure  of  your 
heart  to-day,  can  you  be  sure  that  you  will  never 
change  ? ” 

A smile  played  about  the  lips  of  the  poor  girl ; a ray 
of  sunshine  from  her  heart  lighted  up  her  face  with  so 
bright  a glow  that  Eugene  was  frightened  at  having 
called  forth  such  a manifestation  of  feeling. 

“ What ! if  to-morrow  you  were  rich  and  happy,  if 
immense  wealth  came  to  you  from  the  skies,  would 
you  still  love  a poor  young  man  who  had  pleased  you 
in  the  days  of  your  own  distress  ? ” 

She  made  a pretty  motion  of  her  head. 


Pere  Goriot, 


197 


“ A very  poor  unhappy  man  ? ” 

Another  sign. 

« What  nonsense  are  you  talking  ? ” cried  Madame 
Vauquer. 

“ Never  mind,”  said  Eugene  ; ‘‘  we  understand  each 
other.” 

« Ah  ! an  understanding ! — a promise  of  marriage 
between  the  Chevalier  Eugene  de  Rastignac  and  Made- 
moiselle Victorine  Taillefer  ! ” said  Vautrin  in  his  bluff 
voice,  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room. 

“ How  you  frightened  me  ! ” cried  Madame  Vauquer 
and  Madame  Couture  together. 

“I  might  make  a far  worse  choice,”  said  Eugene, 
laughing. 

The  voice  of  Vautrin  at  that  moment  caused  him 
the  most  painful  emotion  he  had  ever  yet  known. 

“ No  jests  on  that  subject,  if  you  please,  gentlemen,” 
said  Madame  Couture.  “ My  dear,  let  us  go  upstairs.” 

Madame  Vauquer  followed  the  two  ladies,  that  she 
might  economize  fire  and  lights  by  spending  the  even- 
ing in  their  room.  Eugene  found  himself  alone  and 
face  to  face  with  Vautrin. 

f ‘‘  I knew  you  would  come  to  it,”  said  the  latter,  with 
his  imperturbable  sang-froid,  But,  stay  ! I can  be 
delicate  and  considerate  as  well  as  others.  Don’t  make 
up  your  mind  at  this  moment ; you  are  not  altogether 
yourself ; you  are  in  trouble,  in  debt.  I don’t  wish 
it  to  be  passion  or  despair  but  plain  common-sense 
which  brings  you  to  me.  Perhaps  you  want  a few 
thousands  ? Here,  will  you  have  them  ? ” 

The  tempter.4:ook  a purse  from  his  pocket  and  drew 
out  three  bank-notes  of  a thousand  francs  each^  which 


198 


Pere  Goriot. 


he  fluttered  before  the  eyes  of  the  student.  Eugene’s 
situation  at  this  time  was  very  harassing.  He  owed 
the  Marquis  d’Adjuda  and  the  Comte  de  Trailles  a 
hundred  louis  lost  at  cards.  He  had  no  money  to  pay 
the  debt,  and  dared  not  go  that  evening  to  Madame  de 
Restaud’s  where  he  was  expected.  It  was  one  of  those 
informal  parties  where  people  drink  tea  and  eat  little 
cakes,  but  lose  their  thousands  at  whist. 

Monsieur,”  said  Eugene,  striving  to  hide  a convul- 
sive shiver,  “ after  what  you  have  confided  to  me,  you 
ought  to  know  that  I cannot  put  myself  under  obliga- 
tions to  you.” 

^ Well,”  said  Vautrin,  “I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
you  say  otherwise.  You  are  a handsome  young  fellow, 
and  sensitive  ; proud  as  a lion  and  gentle  as  a little 
girl.  You  would  be  a fine  morsel  for  the  Devil : I like 
the  strain.  A little  more  study  of  men  and  morals, 
and  you  will  see  the  world  in  its  true  light.  A man 
of  your  stamp  generally  relieves  his  conscience  by 
playing  a few  scenes  of  virtuous  indignation  and  self- 
sacrifice,  highly  applauded  by  the  fools  in  the  pit. 
In  a few  days  you  will  be  one  of  us.  Ah  ! if  you  be- 
come my  pupil,  I will  make  you  anything  you  please. 
You  could  not  form  a wish  but  it  should  be  gratified, 
— were  it  for  honor,  fortune,  or  the  love  of  women. 
All  civilization  should  be  turned  into  ambrosia  for 
you.  You  should  be  our  spoiled  child,  our  Benjamin ; 
we  would  lay  down  our  lives  for  you  with  pleasure. 
Every  obstacle  in  your  path  should  be  swept  away! 
If  you  are  still  scrupulous,  I suppose  you  take  me  for 
a scoundrel  ? Let  me  tell  you  that  a man  who  was 
quite  as  high-minded  as  you  can  pretend  to  be,  Mon- 


Pere  Groriot, 


199 


ieur  de  Turenne,  had  his  little  arrangements  with 
he  brigands  of  his  day  without  thinking  himself  at 
,11  compromised  by  it.  You  don’t  want  to  be  under 
•bligations  to  me,  hein  ? That  need  not  hinder,’  he 
aid  with  a smile;  “take  the  notes,  and  write  across 
his,”  he  added,  pulling  out  a stamped  paper,  “ Ac- 
epted  for  the  sum  of  three  thousand,  five  hundred 
rancs,  payable  in  twelve  months  ; sign  it,  and  add  the 
[ate.  The  five  hundred  francs  interest  is  enough  to 
elieve  you  of  all  scruples.  You  may  call  me  a Jew  if 
^ou  like,  and  consider  yourself  entirely  released  from 
p^atitude.  I have  no  objection  to  your  despising  me 
low,  for  I am  certain  you  will  come  to  me  in  the  end. 
fou  will  find  in  me  the  unfathomable  depths  and  the 
^ast  concentrated  emotions  which  ninnies  call  vices; 
)ut  you  will  never  find  me  false  or  ungrateful.  I ’m 
lot  a pawn,  nor  a knight — I’m  a castle,  a tower 
)f  strength,  my  boy  ! ” 

“ Who  are  you  ? ” cried  Eugene.  ^ W ere  you  created 
;0  torment  me  ? ” 

, No,  no;  I am  a kind  man,  willing  to  get  splashed 
jhat  you  may  be  kept  out  of  the  mud  for  the  rest  of 
four  life.  I have  startled  you  a little  with  the  chimes 
Df  your  Social  Order,  and  by  letting  you  see,  perhaps 
:;oo  soon,  how  the  peal  is  rung.  But  the  first  fright 
will  pass,  like  that  of  a recruit  on  the  battlefield.  You 
will  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  men  as  well  as  of 
soldiers  dying  to  promote  the  good  of  others  who  have 
srowned  themselves  kings  and  emperors.  How  times 
have  changed ! Formerly  we  could  say  to  a bravo, 
Here  are  a hundred  crowns ; go  kill  me  So-and-so,’ 
and  eat  our  suppers  tranquilly  after  sending  a man 


200  " Pere  Goriot. 

to  the  shades  by  a yes  or  a no.  To-day  I propose  to 
give  you  a handsome  fortune  ; and  yet  you  hesitate, 
when  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  nod  your  head,  — a thing 
which  cannot  compromise  you  in  any  way.  The  age 
is  rotten ! ” 

Eugene  signed  the  paper,  and  exchanged  it  for  the 
bank-notes. 

/ ‘‘Come,  let  us  talk  sense,”  resumed  Vautrin.  “I 
want  to  start  for  America  in  a few  months  and  plant 
my  tobacco.  I will  send  you  the  cigars  of  friendship. 
If  I get  rich  I will  help  you.  If  I have  no  children 
(and  that  is  probable,  for  I am  not  anxious  to  propa- 
gate myself),  I will  leave  you  all  my  fortune.  Don’t 
you  call  that  being  a friend  ? Hut  I have  a passion 
for  devoting  myself  to  others  — I have  sacrificed 
myself  before  now  in  my  life.  I live  in  a sphere 
above  that  of  other  men  ] I look  on  actions  as  means 
to  ends,  and  I make  straight  for  those  ends.  What  is 
the  life  of  a man  to  me  ? — not  that ! ” he  added,  click- 
ing his  thumb-nail  against  a tooth.  “ A man  is  all, 
or  nothing.  Less  than  nothing  when  he  is  Poiret: 
one  may  crush  such  a man  as  that  like  a bed-bug, — 
he  is  flat  and  empty,  and  he  stinks.  But  a man  gifted 
as  you  are  is  a god  ^ he  is  not  a machine  in  human 
skin,  but  a theatre  where  noble  sentiments  are  en- 
acted. I live  in  sentiments  ! )^A  noble  sentiment, 
what  is  it?  — the  whole  of  life  in  a thought.  Look 
at  Pere  Goriot:  his  two  daughters  are  his  universe,— 
they  are  the  threads  of  fate  that  guide  him  throiigli 
created  things.  I say  again,  I have  dug  deep  into  life, 
and  I know  there  is  but  one  enduring  sentiment, 
man’s  friendship  for  man.  Pierre  et  Jaftier  I know 


Pire  Croriot. 


201 


Venice  Preserved ’ by  heart!  Have  you  seen  many 
len.  virile  enough  when  a comrade  said,  ‘ Come,  help 
le  bury  a corpse,’  to  follow  without  asking  a question 
r preaching  a moral  ? I have  done  that ! But  you, 
ou  are  superior  to  others ; to  you  I can  speak  out, 
ou  will  comprehend  me.  You  ’ll  not  paddle  long  in 
le  marsh  with  the  dwarfs  and  the  toads ! Well, 

^ is  settled  : you  will  marry  her.  Let  us  each  carry 
ur  point.  Mine  is  steel,  and  will  never  yield  ! Ha ! 
a!  — ” 

Vautrin  walked  away  without  listening  to  the  nega- 
ive  reply  of  Rastignac.  He  seemed  to  know  the 
scret  of  those,  feeble  efforts  at  resistance,  those  in- 
ffectual  struggles  with  which  men  try  to  cheat  them- 
elves,  and  which  serve  to  excuse  their  evil  actions  to 
heir  own  minds. 

“Let  him  do  what  he  likes;  I will  never  marry 
lademoiselle  Taillefer,”  said  Eugene. 

The  thought  of  a compact  between  himself  and  a 
aan  he  held  in  abhorrence,  yet  who  was  fast  assuming 
ireat  proportions  in  his  eyes  by  the  cynicism  of  his 
deas  and  the  boldness  with  which  he  clinched  society, 
hrew  Rastignac  into  an  inward  fever,  from  which, 
lowever,  he  rallied  in  time  to  dress  and  go  to  Madame 
le  Restaud’s.  For  some  time  past  the.  countess  had 
hown  him  much  attention,  as  a young  man  whose 
ivery  step  led  him  more  and  more  into  the  heart  of 
he  great  world,  and  whose  influence  might  eventually 
)ecome  formidable.  He  paid  his  debts  to  Messieurs 
I’Adjuda  and  de  Trailles,  played  whist  far  into  the 
light,  and  regained  all  he  had  lost.  Being  supersti- 
ious,  as  most  men  are  whose  future  lies  before  them  to 


202 


Pere  Goriot, 


make  or  mar,  and  who  are  all  more  or  less  fatalists,  he 
^chose  to  see  the  favor  of  Heaven  in  his  run  of  luck,  — a 
recompense  granted  for  his  persistence  in  the  path  of 
duty.  ]The  next  morning  he  hastened  to  ask  Vautrin 
for  the  note  of  hand,  and  repaid  the  three  thousand 
francs  with  very  natural  satisfaction. 

‘‘  All  goes  well,”  said  V autrin. 

‘‘  But  I am  not  your  accomplice,”  said  Eugene. 

‘‘  I know,  I know,”  replied  the  other,  interrupting 
him ; you  are  still  hampered  with  some  childish  non- 
sense. Once  across  the  threshold,  and  youHl  be  all 
right.” 

Two  days  later  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michonneau 
were  sitting  on  a bench  in  the  sun,  in  a quiet  alley  of 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  talking  with  the  gentleman  who 
had  rightly  enough  been  an  object  of  suspicion  to 
Bianchon. 

‘‘  Mademoiselle,”  said  Monsieur  Gondureau,  “ I can- 
not see  why  you  should  have  any  scruples.  His  Excel- 
lency Monseigneur  the  Minister  of  Police  of  this  king- 
dom,—” 

Ah ! His  Excellency  Monseigneur  the  Minister  of 
Police  of  this  kingdom,”  repeated  Poiret. 

^'Yes;  His  Excellency  is  personally  interested  in 
this  affair,”  said  Gondureau. 

/It  seems  at  first  sight  improbable  that  Poiret,  an  old 
government  employe,  who  had  presumably  the  virtues 
of  the  bourgeois  class  though  destitute  of  brains,  should 
have  continued  to  listen  to  this  man  after  he  had  plainly 
acknowledged  himself  to  be  a police  spy,  an  agent  of  the 
Rue  de  Jerusalem  disguised  as  an  honest  citizen.  Yet 


203 


^ Pere  Groriot. 

the  thing  was  really  natural  enough.  The  reader  will 
better  understand  the  place  that  Poiret  held  in  the 
great  family  of  fools  after  hearing  some  remarks  made 
""nS  long^Snce  By  certain  keen  observers  of  society,  but 
which  have  never  yet  appeared  in  print.  ^There  is  a 
nation  of  quill-drivers  placed  in  the  budget  between 
the  Arctic  zone  of  official  life  inhabited  by  clerks  who 
receive  twelve  hundred  francs  annually,  — the  Green- 
land of  our  public  offices,  — and  the  temperate  regions 
where  salaries  rise  from  three  to  six  thousand  francs, 
nay,  even  blossom  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  cultiva- 
tion. One  of  the  characteristic  traits  of  the  tribe  in- 
haLiting  the  middle  region  — a narrow,  down-trodden 
class  — is  its  involuntary,  mechanical,  instinctive  respect 
for  that  Grand  Llama  of  office,  known  personally  to  the 
petty  employe  only  by  an  illegible  signature,  and  spoken 
of  with  reverence  as  His  Excellency  Monseigneur  the 
Minister ; five  words  equivalent  to  “ II  Bondo  Cani^'^ 
of  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad,  — words  which  to  this  hum 
ble  class  represent  a power  sacred  and  beyond  appeal. 
What  the  Pope  is  among  Christians,  Monseigneur  is  to 
the  employe.  /(Regarded  as  infallible  in  his  adminis^ 
trative  capacity,  the  light  that  emanates  from  this 
luminary  is  reflected  in  his  acts  and  words,  and  in  all 
that  he  does  by  proxy.  It  covers  with  a mantle  and 
legalizes  every  act  that  he  may  ordain.  His  very  title 
of  Excellency  seems  to  attest  the  purity  of  his  motives 
‘ and  the  sanctity  of  his  intentions,  and  is  a cloak  to 
ideas  that  would  not  otherwise  be  tolerated.  Things 
that  these  poor  officials  would  never  do  to  serve  them- 
selves, they  do  willingly  in  the  great  name  of  His  Ex- 
cellency.  Public  offices  have  their  duty  of  passive 


204 


Pere  Groriot, 


obedience  as  well  as  the  army  ; they  are  controlled  by 
a system  which  stifles  conscience,  annihilates  manliness, 
and  ends  by  making  the  human  being  a mere  screw, 
or  nut,  in  the  government  machinery.  Thus  Monsieur 
Gondureau,  who  appeared  to  have  a knowledge  of 
men,  soon  discovered  in  Poiret  the  bureaucratic  ninny, 
and  trotted  out  his  Pens  ex  machind,  the  talismanic 
words  His  Excellency,”  at  the  moment  when,  un- 
masking his  batteries,  it  was  desirable  to  dazzle  the  old 
fellow,  — whom  he  regarded  as  a male  Michonneau, 
just  as  the  Michonneau  appeared  to  him  a female 
Poiret. 

‘‘  Since  His  Excellency  himself.  His  Excellency  Mon- 
seigneur — ah  ! that  alters  the  case,”  said  Poiret. 

“You  hear  what  Monsieur  says,  — a gentleman  in 
whose  judgment  you  appear  to  place  confidence,”  said 
the  pretended  bourgeois^  addressing  Mademoiselle  Mi- 
chonneau. Well,  His  Excellency  has  now  obtained 
the  most  complete  certainty  that  a man  calling  himself 
Vautrin,  who  lives  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  is  doubtless 
an  escaped  convict  from  the  Toulon  galleys,  where  he 
was  known  by  the  name  of  Trompe-la-Mort  — ” 

“ Ah ! Trompe-la-Mort,  — one  who  cheats  Death  ! ” 
interrupted  Poiret.  He  is  lucky  if  he  has  earned  his 
name.” 

“ Yes,”  said  the  agent,  “ the  nickname  is  due  to  the 
luck  he  has  had  in  never  losing  his  life  in  any  of  the  ex- 
tremely audacious  enterprises  he  has  engaged  in.  The 
man  is  dangerous  ; he  has  qualities  that  make  him  very 
remarkable.  His  condemnation  itself  was  a thing  that 
did  him  infinite  honor  among  his  comrades.” 

“ Is  he  a man  of  honor  ? ” asked  Poiret. 


Pere  Groriot. 


207 


widely  extended  which  he  wraps  in  a mystery  really 
mpenetrable.  For  a year  we  have  surrounded  him 
vith  spieSj  but  we  have  not  yet  been  able  to  fathom 
lis  game.  His  money  and  his  ability  are  meantime 
promoting  vice,  making  a capital  for  crime,  and  sup- 
porting  a perfect  army  of  bad  men  who  are  perpetually 
making  war  upon  society.  To  arrest  Trompe-la-Mort 
and  seize  his  funds  would  pull  the  evil  up  by  the  roots. 
The  matter  has  thus  become  an  affair  of  State  and 
of  public  policy,  capable  of  doing  honor  to  all  who 
engage  in  it.  You,  Monsieur,  might  perhaps  be  re- 
employed by  the  Government,  — as  secretary,  possibly, 
of  a police  commissioner,  which  would  not  hinder  you 
from  drawing  your  pension  as  a retired  functionary.’’ 

But,”  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  ‘‘  why  does 
not  Trompe-la-Mort  run  off  with  the  money?” 

Oh  ! ” said  Gondureau,  ‘‘  wherever  he  went  he 
would  be  followed  by  a man  with  orders  to  kill  him  if 
he  stole  from  the  Bagne.  Money  cannot  be  carried  ofi 
as  quietly  as  a man  can  run  away  with  a pretty  girl. 
Moreover,  Collin  is  a fellow  incapable  of  such  an  act. 
He  would  feel  himself  dishonored.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Poiret,  you  are  right ; he  would 
be  altogether  dishonored.” 

All  this  does  not  explain  why  you  do  not  simply 
arrest  him  at  once,”  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

‘‘Well,  Mademoiselle,  I will  tell  you.  But,”  he 
whispered  in  her  ear,  “ keep  your  gentleman  from 
interrupting  me,  or  we  shall  never  have  done.  He 
ought  to  be  very  rich  to  get  any  one  to  sit  and  listen 
to  him.  — Trompe-la-Mort  when  he  came  here  put  on 
the  skin  of  an  honest  man.  He  gave  himself  out  as  a 


208 


Pere  Goriot. 


plain  citizen,  and  took  lodgings  in  a commonplace  j:)en- 
sion.  Oh  ! he  is  very  cunning,  I can  tell  you.  He  is 
not  a fish  to  be  caught  without  a worm  ! So  Monsieur 
Vautrin  is  a man  of  consideration,  who  carries  on  im-. 
portant  business  of  some  kind.” 

“ Naturally,”  said  Poiret  to  himself. 

“ The  minister,  if  any  mistake  should  be  made,  and 
if  we  were  to  arrest  a real  Vautrin,  would  bring  down 
upon  himself  all  the  tradespeople  of  Paris,  and  have  to 
face  public  opinion.  Monsieur  the  prefect  of  police 
is  not  very  sure  of  his  place ; he  has  enemies ; and  il 
we  were  to  make  a mistake,  those  who  want  to  step 
into  his  shoes  would  profit  by  the  yelpings  and  out- 
cries of  the  liberals  to  get  rid  of  him.  We  must  act 
now  as  we  did  in  that  affair  of  Coignard,  the  false 
Comte  de  Sainte-Helene  ; if  he  had  been  the  real  count 
we  should  have  been  in  the  wrong  box.  So  we  are 
careful  to  verify.” 

Yes,  but  for  that  you  want  a pretty  woman,”  said 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  quickly. 

Trompe-la-Mort  will  never  put  himself  in  the  power 
of  any  woman,”  said  the  detective.  He  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.” 

Then  I don’t  see  how  I could  help  you  to  the  veri- 
fication, even  supposing  I were  willing  to  undertake  it 
for  two  thousand  francs.” 

‘‘Nothing  easier.  I will  give  you  a phial  containing 
one  dose  of  liquid  which  will  produce  a rush  of  blood 
to  the  head,  — not  in  the  least  dangerous,  but  with  all 
the  symptoms  of  apoplexy.  The  drug  may  be  put 
either  into  his  wine  or  his  coffee.  As  soon  as  it  has 
had  its  effect,  carry  your  man  to  his  bed,  undress  him, 


Pere  Groriot. 


209 


— to  see  if  he  is  dying,  or  any  other  pretext,  — con- 
rive  to  be  alone  with  him,  and  give  him  a smart  slap 
•n  the  shoulder,  paf ! and  you  will  see  the  letters  re- 
ppear.” 

That’s  not  much  to  do,”  said  Poiret. 

Well,  do  you  agree?”  said  Gondureau  to  the  old 
aaid. 

^^But,  my  dear  Monsieur,”  said  Mademoiselle  Mi- 
ihonneau,  suppose  there  are  no  letters.  Shall  I have 
he  two  thousand  francs  ? ” 

No.” 

What  will  you  pay  me  in  that  case  ?” 

Five  hundred  francs.” 

‘‘  It  is  very  little  for  doing  such  a thing  as  that. 
Either  way  it  is  equally  hard  upon  my  conscience.  I 
lave  my  conscience  to  quiet,  Monsieur.” 

“ I assure  you,”  said  Poiret,  that  Mademoiselle 
las  a great  deal  of  conscience;  and,  besides,  she  is  a 
nost  amiable  person  and  well  informed.” 

“Well,”  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  “give  me 
jhree  thousand  francs  if  it  is  Trompe-la-Mort,  and 
lothing  at  all  if  he  proves  to  be  an  honest  man.” 

“Done!”  said  Gondureau,  “ but  on  condition  that 
^ou  do  it  to-morrow.” 

“ Not  so  fast,  my  dear  Monsieur.  I must  consult 
ny  confessor.” 

“You  are  a sly  one!”  said  the  detective  rising. 
‘Well,  I’ll  see  you  to-morrow  then ; and  if  you  want 
A before  then,  come  to  the  Petite  Rue  Sainte-Anne, 

the  farther  end  of  the  Court  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle. 
There  is  only  one  door  under  the  arch.  Ask  for 
Monsieur  Gondureau.” 


14 


210 


Pere  Goriot. 


Bian chon,  who  was  coming  from  the  Coursde  Cuvi 
caught  the  singular  name  of  Trompe-la-Mort,  and  hear^^ 
the  “ Done ! ” of  the  celebrated  chief  of  the  detect! 
police. 

Why  did  not  you  settle  it  at  once  ? ” said  Poire 
to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau.  ‘‘  It  would  give  yoi 
three  hundred  francs  annuity.” 

« Why?”  said  she.  ‘‘  Well,  because  I want  to  thinl 
it  over.  If  Monsieur  V autrin  is  really  Trompe-la-Mori 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  make  a bargain  with  him 
Still,  if  I broached  the  subject  I should  give  him  warn 
ing,  and  he  is  just  the  man  to  decamp  gratis.  It  would 
be  an  abominable  cheat.” 

Even  if  he  did  get  away,”  said  Poiret,  ‘‘  Monsieui 
told  us  he  was  watched  by  the  police.  But  you,  — yor 
will  lose  everything.” 

There  is  this  to  be  said,”  thought  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau,  I don’t  like  him.  He  is  always  saying 
disagreeable  things  to  me.” 

“ Besides,”  said  Poiret,  returning  to  the  charge, 
‘‘  you  will  be  acting  for  the  Government.  According 
to  what  that  gentleman  told  us  (he  seemed  to  me  a 
very  nice  man,  and  very  well  dressed  too),  it  is  an  act 
of  obedience  to  the  laws  ; it  rids  the  world  of  a crimi- 
nal, however  virtuous  he  may  be.  He  who  has  drunk 
will  drink.  Suppose  he  took  a fancy  to  murder  us  in 
our  beds — devil  take  me  ! — we  should  be  guilty  of  his 
homicides ; and  be  ourselves  the  first  victims.” 

The  preoccupation  of  Mademoiselle  Michonne^^g[ 
prevented  her  from  giving  ear  to  these  sentenc^i^^ 
which  dropped  one  by  one  from  the  lips  of  Poiret 
like  water  trickling  through  a spigot  carelessly  closed. 


Pere  Qoriot. 


211 


en  once  the  old  man  was  set  going,  and  Mademoi- 
le  Michonneau  did  not  stop  him,  he  ticked  on  like 
echanism  wound  up  to  go  till  it  runs  down.  Hav- 
g broached  a subject,  he  was  usually  led  by  his  par- 
ntheses  through  a variety  of  irrelevant  topics  without 
v^er  coming  to  a conclusion.  By  the  time  they  reached 
le  Maison  Vauquer  he  had  maundered  through  a 
uantity  of  examples  and  quotations  which  led  him 
nally  to  relate  his  own  deposition  in  the  affair  of  the 
ieur  Ragoulleau  and  the  Dame  Morin,  in  which  he  had 
gured  as  a witness  for  the  defence.  On  entering  the 
ouse  his  companion  observed  that  Eugene  de  Ras- 
Lgnac  was  engaged  in  close  conversation  with  Ma- 
emoiselle  Taillefer,  and  that  their  interest  in  each 
ther  was  so  absorbing  that  they  paid  no  heed  to  the 
air  who  passed  them  in  crossing  the  dining-room. 

“ I knew  it  would  come  to  that,”  said  Mademoiselle 
lichonneau  to  Poiret,  “ they  have  been  making  eyes 
t each  other  for  the  last  week.” 

‘‘  Yes,”  he  replied,  but  after  all,  she  was  pronounced 
;uilty.” 

‘‘  Who?” 


‘‘  Madame  Morin.” 

I was  talking  of  Mademoiselle  Victorine,”  said 
'dichonneau,  following  Poiret  into  his  chamber  without 
loticing  where  she  was  going,  ‘‘  and  you  answer  me 
)y  Madame  Morin.  Who  is  that  woman  ? ” 

“ What  has  Mademoiselle  Victorine  been  guilty  of?  ” 
isked  Poiret. 

‘‘  She  is  guilty  of  being  in  love  with  Monsieur 
^mgene  de  Rastignac,  and  running  headlong  without 
mowing  what  she  is  coming  to,  poor  innocent ! ” 


212 


Pete  Goriot, 


\ 

V 


XIII. 

Eugene  had  that  morning  been  driven  to  despair  bj 
Madame  de  Nucingen.  In  his  inmost  soul  be  noTV 
yielded  himself  up  to  Vautrin,  not  choosing  to  fathom 
either  the  motives  of  that  strange  man  in  befriending 
him,  or  the  future  of  the  alliance  that  would  be  riveted 
between  them.  Nothing  but  a miracle  could  save  him 
now  from  the  abyss,  on  the  verge  of  which  he  stood  ae 
he  exchanged  with  Mademoiselle  Taillefer  the  sweetest 
of  all  promises.  Victorine  listened  as  to  the  voice  oi 
angels  ; the  heavens  opened  for  her,  the  Maison  Vau- 
qper  shone  with  tints  that  artists  lavish  upon  palaces : 
she  loved,  and  she  was  loved,  — alas,  she  thought  she 
was!  And  what  young  girl  would  not  have  thought 
so,  as  she  looked  at  Rastignac  and  listened  to  him  foi 
that  one  sweet  hour  stolen  from  the  argus  eyes  that 
watched  her  ! While  he  fought  his  conscience,  know 
ing  that  he  was  doing  evil  and  choosing  to  do  evil, 
saying  to  himself  that  he  would  atone  for  this  sin 
by  giving  lifelong  happiness  to  his  wife,  the  fires  ol 
the  hell  within  him  burned  from  the  inner  to  the 
outer,  and  the  anguish  of  his  soul  heightened  the 
beauty  of  his  face.  Mercifully  for  him  the  miracle 
took  place. 

Vautrin  entered  gaily,  reading  at  a glance  the  souk 
of  the  young  pair  whom  he  had  married  by  the  machi- 


PeTe  Groriot. 


213 


lations  of  his  infernal  genius,  and  whose  joy  he  killed 
,s  he  trolled  forth  in  his  strong  mocking  voice.  — 

, « jViy  Fanny  is  charming 

In  her  simplicity." 

Victorine  fled  away,  carrying  with  her  more  of  joy 
,han  she  had  yet  known  of  sorrow.  Poor  child , a pres- 
sure of  the  hands,  the  sweep  of  her  lovers’  curls  upon 
ler  cheek,  a word  whispered  in  her  ear  so  close  that  she 
;elt  the  warm  touch  of  his  lips,  an  arm  folded  trembling 
rbout  her,  a kiss  taken  from  her  white  throat,  these 
were  the  troth-plights  of  her  passion,  which  the  near 
presence  of  Sylvie,  threatening  to  enter  that  radiant 
dining-room,  only  rendered  more  ardent,  more  real, 
more  tender  than  the  noblest  pledges  of  devotion  re- 
lated in  the  love-tales  of  the  knights  of  old.  These 
menus  suffrages,— to  borrow  the  pretty  expression 
of  our  ancestors  — seemed  almost  crimes  to  the  pure 
heart  that  confessed  itself  weekly.  In  this  short  hour 
she  had  lavished  treasures  of  her  soul  more  precious 
far  than  hereafter,  rich  and  happy,  she  could  bestow 
with  the  gift  of  her  whole  being. 

“ The  affair  is  arranged,”  said  V autrin  to  Eugene. 
“ All  passed  very  properly.  Difference  of  opinion. 
Our  pigeon  insulted  my  falcon.  It  is  for  to-morrow, 
in  the  redoubt  at  Clignancourt.  By  half-past  eight 
o’clock  Mademoiselle  Taillefer  will  be  heiress  of  all 
the  love  and  all  the  money  of  her  father,  while  she 
is  quietly  dipping  her  bits  of  toast  into  her  coffee ! 
Droll,  isn’t  it?  It  seems  young  Taillefer  is  a good 
swordsman,  and  he  feels  as  sure  of  having  the  best  of 
it  as  if  be  held  all  the  trumps  in  his  hand.  But  he  ’ll 


214 


Pere  G or  lot. 


be  bled  by  a trick  of  mine;  a pass  I invented, — rais- 
ing the  sword  and  giving  a quick  thrust  through  the 
forehead.  I’ll  show  it  to  you  some  day,  for  it  is 
immensely  useful.” 

Rastignac  looked  at  him  and  listened  in  a stupid 
manner,  but  said  nothing.  At  this  moment  Pere 
Goriot  came  in  with  Bianchon  and  some  of  the  other 
guests. 

‘‘  You  are  taking  it  just  as  I hoped,”  said  Vautrin. 
“ You  know  what  you  are  about.  All  right,  my  young 
eaglet,  — you  will  govern  men.  You  are  strong,  firm, 
virile.  I respect  you.” 

He  offered  his  hand,  but  Rastignac  drew  back 
quickly  and  dropped  into  a chair,  turning  very  pale ; a 
sea  of  blood  rolled  at  his  feet. 

‘‘  Well,  well ! we  still  have  a rag  of  our  swaddling- 
clothes  spotted  with  virtue,”  said  Vautrin  in  a whis- 
per. The  papa  has  three  millions.  I know  his 
fortune.  The  dot  will  make  you  white  as  the  bridal 
gown,  — in  your  own  eyes,  too ; never  fear.” 

Rastignac  hesitated  no  longer.  He  determined  to 
go  that  evening  and  warn  the  Taillefers,  father  and 
son.  At  this  moment,  Vautrin  having  left  him,  Pere 
Goriot  said  in  his  ear,  — 

‘‘  You  seem  out  of  spirits,  my  dear  boy  ; but  I can 
make  you  merry.  Come  ! ” 

The  old  man  lit  his  rush-light  at  one  of  the  lamps, 
and  went  upstairs.  Eugene  followed  him  in  silence. 

Let  us  go  to  your  room,”  he  said.  “ You  thought 
this  morning  that  she  did  not  care  for  you,  hein?  She 
sent  you  away  peremptorily  ; and  you  went  off  angry. 
Oh,  you  simpleton!  She  was  expecting  me.  We 


Pere  Groriot. 


215 


w^ere  going  together, — yes,  together^ — to  arrange  a 
ittle  jewel  of  an  appartement  where  you  are  to  live 
three  days  from  now.  Don't  tell  her  that  I told  you. 
[t  was  to  be  a surprise ; but  I can ’t  keep  the  secret 
my  longer.  It  is  in  the  Rue  d’ Artois,  two  steps 
from  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare.  You  will  be  lodged  like 
\ prince.  We  have  been  getting  furniture  fit  for  a 
bride.  We  have  been  very  busy  together  for  the  last 
month,  but  I would  not  tell  you  anything  about  it. 
My  lawyer  has  taken  the  field.  Delphine  will  have 
ber  thirty  thousand  francs  a year,  the  interest  of  her 
iot;  and  I shall  insist  on  her  eight  hundred  thousand 
Francs  being  invested  in  good  securities,  — securities 
in  open  day-light,  you  know.” 

Eugene  was  silent.  He  walked  up  and  down  the 
miserable,  untidy  room  with  folded  arms.  Pere  Goriot 
seized  a moment  when  his  back  was  turned  to  put  upon 
the  chimney-piece  a red  morocco  case,  on  which  the 
arms  of  Rastignac  were  stamped  in  gold. 

My  dear  boy ! ” said  the  poor  old  man,  “ I have 
^one  into  this  thing  up  to  my  chin.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  there  is  some  selfishness  in  it.  I have  my  own 
interests  to  serve  in  your  change  of  quarters.  I have 
something  to  ask  of  you.” 

‘‘What  is  it  ? ” 

“ There  is  a little  room  attached  to  the  appartement 
that  will  just  suit  me.  I shall  live  there,  shall  I not  ? 
I am  getting  old  — I live  so  far  from  my  daughters. 
I shall  not  be  in  your  way ; but  you  will  come  and  tell 
me  about  them  constantly,  — every  evening?  That 
will  not  trouble  you,  will  it  ? When  you  come  in,  and 
I am  in  my  bed,  I shall  hear  you,  and  say  to  myself, 


216 


Pere  Groriot. 


‘ He  has  seen  my  little  Delphine  ; he  has  taken  her  to 
a ball ; she  is  happy  with  him.’  If  I were  ill,  it  would 
be  balm  to  my  heart  to  hear  you  go  out  and  come  in. 
It  would  bring  me  nearer  to  my  daughters you  belong 
to  their  world,  but  you  are  my  friend.  It  will  be  but 
a step  to  the  Champs  Elysees,  where  they  drive  every 
afternoon  ; I could  see  them  daily,  whereas  now  I 
often  get  there  too  late.  Sometimes  my  little  Del- 
phine would  come  there,  and  then  I should  see  her, 
in  her  pretty  wadded  pelisse,  trotting  about  as  daintily 
as  a little  cat.  She  has  been  so  bright  and  merry  for 
a month  past,' — just  what  she  was  as  a girl  at  home, 
with  me.  She  said  to  me  just  now  as  we  walked 
together,  ‘ Papa,  I am  so  happy  ! ’ When  they  say 
ceremoniously,  ^ My  father,’  they  freeze  me ; but  when 
they  call  me  ^ Papa,’  I seem  to  see  my  little  ones  again  ; 
the  past  comes  back  to  me ; they  are  mine  once 
more.” 

The  old  man  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  “ I had 
not  heard  her  say  ^Papa’  for  so  long!  She  had  not 
taken  my  arm  for  years : yes ! it  is  ten  years  since  I 
have  walked  beside  either  of  my  daughters.  Oh  ! it 
was  good  to  hear  the  flutter  of  her  dress,  to  keep  step 
with  her,  to  feel  her  so  warm  and  soft  beside  me ! 
This  morning  I went  everywhere  with  Delphine  ; she 
took  me  into  the  shops ; I escorted  her  home.  Ah  ! 
you  and  I will  live  together.  If  you  have  any  want 
I shall  know  it,  — I shall  be  at  hand.  If  that  rough 
log  of  an  Alsatian  would  only  die ! if  his  gout  would  fly 
to  his  stomach ! then  you  could  make  my  poor  girl  a 
happy  woman.  She  may  have  done  wrong,  but  she 
has  been  so  wretched  in  her  marriage  that  I excuse 


Pere  Groriot. 


217 


ill.  Surely  the  Father  in  Heaven  is  not  less  kind  than 
in  earthly  father!  — She  was  praising  you  to  me,”  he 
vent  on  after  a pause.  ‘‘  She  talked  of  you  as  we 
valked  : ‘ Is  he  not  handsome,  Papa?  Is  he  not  kind 
ind  good  ? Does  he  ever  speak  of  me  ? ’ From  the 
[lue  d’ Artois  to  the  Passage  des  Panoramas  she  talked 
)f  you.  All  this  happy  morning  I was  no  longer  old, 

— I was  light  as  a feather.  I told  her  how  you  gave 
ne  the  thousand-franc  note.  Oh!  the  darling!  she 
;hed  tears  — Why  ! what  is  that  you  have  on  your 
ihimney-piece  ? ” he  said,  impatient  at  Rastignac’s 
mmobility. 

Eugene,  stunned  and  silent,  looked  at  his  neighbor 
vith  a bewildered  air.  The  duel,  with  all  its  conse- 
quences, announced  by  Vautrin  for  the  morrow,  pre- 
sented such  a frightful  contrast  to  this  fulfilment  of 
lis  pleasant  dreams  that  his  mind  struggled  as  it  were 
vith  a nightmare.  He  turned  to  the  fireplace  and 
jaw  the  little  case,  opened  it,  and  found  inside  a scrap 
)f  paper,  beneath  which  lay  a Breguet  watch.  On  the 
Daper  were  written  these  words  : — 

I wish  you  to  think  of  me  every  hour,  because  — 

Delphine.’' 

The  last  word  no  doubt  alluded  to  something  that 
tiad  passed  between  them.  Eugene  was  much  affected. 
His  arms  were  inlaid  in  gold  inside  the  case.  This  bijou, 

— a pretty  thing  he  had  long  coveted,  — the  chain, 
the  key,  the  case,  the  chasing,  were  all  exactly  what 
iae  liked.  Pere  Goriot  was  delighted.  He  had  doubt- 
less promised  to  carry  to  his  daughter  an  account  of 
iiow  Eugene  received  her  unexpected  gift ; for  he  was 


218  Pere  Groriot. 

a third  in  their  youthful  pleasures,  and  not  the  least 
happy  of  the  three. 

‘‘You  will  go  and  see  her  this  evening?”  he  said, 
“ She  expects  you.  That  log  of  an  Alsatian  sups  with 
his  danseuse.  You  will  take  me  with  you,  will  you 
not  ? ” 

“Yes,  my  good  Pere  Goriot.  You  know  that  I love 
you  — ” 

“ Ah  ! you  are  not  ashamed  of  me,  — not  you  ! Let 
me  kiss  you ; ” and  he  strained  the  student  in  his  arms. 
“ To-night ! — we  will  go  and  see  her  to-night.” 

“ Yes ; but  first  I must  go  out  on  business  which  it 
is  impossible  to  postpone.” 

“ Can  I help  you  ? ” 

“Why,  yes,  you  can.  While  I go  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen’s,  you  might  go  to  the  house  of  Monsieur 
Taillefer,  the  father,  and  beg  him  to  give  me  an  hour 
this  evening,  to  speak  to  him  on  a subject  of  the 
utmost  importance.” 

“ Can  it  be  possible,  young  man,”  cried  Pere  Goriot, 
whose  whole  aspect  changed,  — “ can  it  be  true  that 
you  are  paying  court  to  his  daughter,  as  those  fools  say 
downstairs  ? Heavens  and  earth  ! You  don’t  know 
what  it  is  to  get  a tap  from  Goriot.  If  you  are  playing 
false,  one  blow  of  my  fist  — But  it  is  not  possible  ! ” 

“ I swear  to  you,  I love  but  one  woman  in  the 
world,”  cried  the  student ; “ and  I did  not  know  it  till 
a moment  ago.  But  young  Taillefer  is  to  fight  a duel, 
and  he  is  certain^to  be  killed.” 

“ What  is  that  to  you  ? ” asked  Goriot. 

“ I must  tell  the  father  to  save  his  son ! ” cried 
Eugene. 


Pere  Groriot. 


219 


His  words  were  interrupted  by  .the  voice  of  Vautrin 
landing  on  the  threshold  of  his  chamber,  singing,  — 

^ O Eichard,  6 mon  roi ! 

L^univers  abandonne  — ' 

‘^Broum!  broum!  broum!  broum!  broum! 

**  * Long  have  I wandered  here  and  there, 

And  wherever  by  chance  — 

Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la  — ' ” 

« Gentlemen,”  said  Christoph e,  “the  soup  is  waiting; 
iverybody  is  at  table.” 

“Here,  Christophe,”  said  Vautrin.  “Come  in  and 
ret  a bottle  of  my  claret.” 

“Is  the  watch  pretty?”  whispered  Pere  Goriot. 

’ Is  it  in  good  taste,  — /lem  ? ” 

Vautrin,  Pere  Goriot,  and  Rastignac  went  down  to 
linner,  and  by  reason  of  their  being  late  were  placed  to- 
gether at  the  table.  Eugene  showed  marked  coldness 
io  Vautrin,  though  the  man  had  never  displayed  greater 
rifts  of  intellect ; he  sparkled  with  wit,  and  even  roused 
something  of  it  in  the  other  guests.  His  sang  froid 
md  assurance  struck  Eugene  with  consternation. 

“ What  herb  have  you  trodden  on  to-day  ? ” said  Ma- 
lame  Vauquer  to  Vautrin  ; “ you  are  as  gay  as  a lark  ” 

“I  am  always  gay  when  I have  done  a good  stroke 
af  business.” 

“ Business  ! ” said  Eugene. 

“ Well,  yes.  I have  delivered  over  some  goods  to- 
day which  will  bring  me  in  a handsome  commission. 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,”  he  continued,  perceiving 
that  the  old  maid  was  looking  at  him  attentively,  “ is 
there  anything  in  my  face  which  is  not  agreeable  to 


220 


Pere  Goriot. 


you,  that  you  stare  at  me  like  an  American  ? If  so, 
pray  mention  it,  and  it  shall  be  changed  to  please  you. 
Ha ! Poiret,  we  won’t  quarrel  about  that,  will  we  ? ” 
he  added,  winking  at  the  employe. 

‘‘  /SaC’Ct-papier ! You  ought  to  sit  for  the  Joking 
Hercules,”  said  the  young  painter  to  Vautrin. 

Faith  ! I’m  willing,  if  Mile.  Michonneau  will  pose 
as  the  Venus  of  Pere-la-Chaise,”  replied  Vautrin. 

‘^And  Poiret?”  said  Bianchon. 

“ Oh,  Poiret  shall  sit — as  Poiret,  god  of  gardens  ! ” 
cried  Vautrin.  ‘‘  He  derives  from  poire  [pear].” 

‘‘  All  that  is  nonsense,”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

You  had  better  give  us  some  of  your  claret.  Monsieur 
Vautrin  ; I see  the  neck  of  a bottle.  It  will  keep  up 
our  spirits,  and  it  is  good  for  the  stomach.” 

^‘Gentlemen,”  said  Vautrin,  ‘‘Madame  la  presidente 
calls  us  to  order.  Madame  Couture  and  Mademoiselle 
Victorine  have  not  yet  declared  themselves  shocked 
by  your  jocular  discourse,  but.j^lease  respect  the  inno- 
cence of  Pere  Goriot.  I propose  to  offer  you  a little 
bottleorama  of  claret,  which  the  name  of  Lafitte  ren- 
ders doubly  illustrious  : this  remark,  you  will  under- 
stand, bears  no  allusion  to  politics.  Come  on,  China- 
man ! ” he  added,  looking  at  Christophe,  who  did  not 
stir.  “ Here,  Christophe ! don’t  you  know  your  name  ? 
Chinese  ! bring  forth  the  liquid  ! ” 

“ Here  it  is.  Monsieur,”  said  Christophe,  giving  him 
the  bottle. 

After  filling  Eugene’s  glass  and  that  of  Pere  Goriot,] 
he  poured  out  a few  drops  for  himself  and  tasted  them 
slowly,  while  the  other  two  drank  theirs  oflf.  Suddenly 
he  made  a grimace. 


Pere  Groriot. 


221 


“The  devil!”  he  cried;  “this  wine  is  corked. 
Here,  Christophe,  you  may  have  the  rest  of  it;  and 
go  and  get  some  more.  You  know  where  it  is,  — right 
hand  side.  Stay ! we  are  sixteen ; biing  down  eight 
bottles.” 

‘‘  Regardless  of  cost,”  said  the  painter.  « I dl  pay 
for  a hundred  chestnuts.” 

‘^Ah!  ah!” 

‘‘  Bra-vo  ! Oh  ! ” 

Hur-rah  1 — rah  I ” 

Every  one  uttered  an  exclamation,  popping,  as  usual, 
like  fireworks. 

Come,  Madame  Vauquer,  give  us  two  bottles  of 
champagne,”  cried  Vautrin. 

“ Listen  to  that  1 You  might  as  well  ask  for  the 
house  itself!  Two  bottles  of  champagne!  Why, 
they  cost  twelve  francs ! I don’t  make  that  in  a 
week.  But  if  Monsieur  Eugene  will  pay  for  the  cham- 
pagne, I ’ll  give  some  currant  wine.” 

“ Pah ! That  stuff  of  hers  is  as  bad  as  a black  dose,” 
said  the  medical  student  in  a whisper. 

Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  Bianchon  ! ” said  Ras- 
tignac ; the  very  name  of  a black  dose  makes  me  sick 
at  — Yes,  bring  on  your  champagne  ! I ’ll  pay  for 
it,”  he  added. 

“Sylvie,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  “give  us  the  bis- 
cuits and  some  little  cakes.” 

“ Your  little  cakes  are  too  old,”  said  Vautrin  ; “they 
have  grown  a beard.  As  for  the  biscuits,  produce 
them ! ” 

In  a few  moments  the  claret  circulated,  the  company 
grew  lively,  the  gayety  redoubled.  Above  the  din  of 


222 


Pere  Goriot 


laughter  rose  a variety  of  cat-calls  and  imitations  o: 
the  noises  of  animals.  The  employe  of  the  museum 
reproduced  a street-cry  popularly  supposed  at  that 
time  to  resemble  the  amorous  miaulings  of  the  roof- 
cats  ; whereupon  eight  voices  joined  chorus  in  well- 
known  Paris  cries  : — 

“ Knives  to  grind  — grind  !” 

Chick — weed  for  your  little  birds  ! ” 

‘‘  Plaisir!  ladies — Plaisir!  taste  my  sweet 
‘‘  China  ! China  to  mend  ! ” 

‘‘To  the  barge ! To  the  barge  ! ” 

“ Beat  your  wives  — your  coats  ! Beat  your  coats  ! ” 
“ Old  clo’es,  gold  lace,  old  hats  to  sell ! ” 

“ Cherries  ! cherries ! ripe  cheriies  ! ” 

But  the  palm  fell  to  Bianchon,  as  he  miauled  through 
his  nose,  “Umbrellas!  — Umbrellas  to  mend  ! ” 

The  racket  was  ear-splitting,  the  talk  sheer  nonsense, 
a veritable  medley,  which  Vautrin  conducted  like  the 
leader  of  an  orchestra,  keeping  an  eye  meanwhile  on 
Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot,  who  both  had  the  appearance 
of  being  drunk  already.  Leaning  back  in  their  chairs, 
they  gazed  stolidly  at  the  extraordinary  scene  around 
them,  and  drank  little.  Both  were  thinking  of  what 
they  had  to  do  that  evening,  but  neither  felt  able  to 
rise  from  his  chair.  Vautrin,  who  watched  every 
change  in  their  faces  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
seized  the  moment  when  their  heads  were  beginning 
to  droop,  to  lean  over  Rastignac,  and  whisper  in  his 
ear,  — 

“ My  lad,  we  are  not  clever  enough  to  get  the  better 
of  Papa  Vautrin.  He  loves  you  a great  deal  too  well 
to  let  you  commit  a folly.  When  I have  made  up  my 


Pere  Goriot. 


223 


bind,  nothing  but  the  hand  of  Providence  can  stop 
me.  Ha!  ha!  my  little  school-boy;  we  thought  we 
would  go  and  tell  Father  Taillefer,  did  we  ? Bah  ! the 
oven  is  hot,  the  dough  is  light,  the  bread  is  in  the  pan, 

to-morrow  we  will  eat  it  and  brush  off  the  crumbs. 

So  you  thought  you  could  keep  it  out  of  the  oven ! 
No!  no!  it  is  bound  to  bake.  If  any  little  bits  of 
remorse  stick  in  our  gullet,  they  will  pass  off  with  the 
digestion.  While  we  are  sleeping  our  sound  little 
sleep.  Colonel  Count  Franchessini  will  open  us  a way 
to  the  money-bags  of  Michel  Taillefer  with  the  point 
of  his  sword.  Victorine  as  her  brother’s  heiress  will 
have  fifteen  thousand  francs  a year  at  once.  I have 
made  the  proper  inquiries ; the  mother  left  more  than 
three  hundred  thousand.” 

Eugene  heard,  but  he  had  no  power  to  answer.  His 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  ; he  was  over- 
come with  an  unconquerable  drowsiness.  He  saw  the 
table  and  the  faces  of  the  people  through  a luminous 
haze.  Presently  the  noise  diminished,  the  guests  were 
leaving  one  by  one.  When  Madame  Vauquer,  Madame 
Couture,  Victorine,  Vautrin,  and  Pbe  Goriot  alone 
were  left,  Rastignac  saw,  as  in  a dream,  Madame  Vau- 
quer going  round  the  table  collecting  the  bottles  and 
emptying  their  contents  together  to  make  full  bottles. 

“Are  they  not  foolish;  are  they  not  young?”  she 
said.  Those  were  the  last  words  Eugene  understood. 

“ There  is  nobody  like  Monsieur  Vautrin  for  playing 
such  tricks,”  said  Sylvie.  “Just  listen  to  Christophe 
snoring  like  a top  ! ” 

“ Good-by,  Mamma,”  said  Vautrin.  “ I am  off  to  the 
boulevard  to  admire  Monsieur  Marty  in  LeMont  Sau 


224 


Pere  Goriot. 


vage^  a new  play  taken  from  ‘ Le  Solitaire.’  If  you 
like,  I will  take  you  and  these  two  ladies.” 

I thank  you,  no,”  said  Madame  Couture. 

‘‘  Oh  ! my  dear  lady  ! ” said  Madame  Vauquer, 
“how  can  you  refuse  to  see  a play  taken  from  ‘Le 
Solitaire/  — a work  by  Atala  de  Chateaubriand,  that 
we  all  read  and  wept  over  under  the  tieuilles  last  sum- 
mer ; a perfectly  moral  tale,  which  might  edify  your 
young  lady  ? ” 

“We  are  forbidden  to  go  to  theatres,”  said  Victorine. 

“There!  those  two  are  off,”  said  Vautrin,  looking 
at  Rastignac  and  Pm^e  Goriot  in  a comical  way,  and 
placing  the  student’s  head  back  in  his  chair  so  that  he 
might  rest  more  comfortably ; singing  as  he  did  so  — 

“ ‘ Sleep  ! sleep ! for  thy  sweet  sake, 

I watch,  I wake.’  ” 

“ I am  afraid  he  is  ill,”  said  V'ictorine. 

“Then  stay  and  nurse  him,”  replied  Vautrin.  “It 
is,”  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  “ a part  of  your  submis- 
sive duty  as  a woman.  He  adores  you,  that  young 
man ; and  you  will  be  his  little  wife.  Remember,  I 
predict  it.  And  then^'*  he  added  aloud,  “ they  were 
much  esteemed  throughout  the  neighborhood^  and  had 
a large  family^  and  lived  happily  ever  after.  That ’s 
the  ending  of  all  love-stories.  Come,  Mamma,”  he 
continued,  turning  to  Madame  Vauquer,  and  putting 
his  arm  round  her.  “ Put  on  your  bonnet  and  the  j 
beautiful  dress  with  the 'flowers  all  over  it,  and  the 
countess’s  scarf,  and  let  us  be  ofi*.  I ’ll  call  a coach 
myself,”  and  he  departed,  singing,  — 

‘ Sun,  Sun  ! divinest  Sun  ! 

That  ripenest  the  lemons  thou  shinest  on.'  ” 


225 


Pere  Goriot. 

« Mon  Bieu  ! Madame  Couture,  I could  live  happy 
in  a garret  with  that  man!”  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ Look  at  P6re  Goriot ! that  old  miser  never  offered 
to  take  me  nowhere.  He  ’ll  be  on  the  floor  presently. 
Heavens ! it  is  n’t  decent  for  a man  of  his  age  to  lose 
his  senses  in  that  way.  I suppose  you  ’ll  say  he  never 
had  any.  Sylvie,  get  him  upstairs. 

Sylvie  took  the  old  man  under  the  arms  and  made 
him  walk  up  to  his  room,  where  she  threw  him,  dressed 
as  he  was,  across  the  bed. 

“ Poor  young  man  1”  said  Madame  Couture,  putting 
back  Eugene’s  hair  which  had  fallen  over  his  forehead  ; 

« he  is  like  a young  girl ; he  did  not  know  the  wine 

would  be  too  much  for  him. 

“I  can  tell  you,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  “that 
though  I have  kept  this  pension  forty  years,  and  many 
young  men  have  passed  in  that  time  through  my  hands, 
I never  knew  one  as  well  behaved  and  gentlemanly  as 
Monsieur  Eugene.  Is  n’t  he  handsome  as  he  lies  asleep  ? 
Let  him  rest  his  head  upon  your  shoulder,  Madame 
Couture.  Ah!  he  has  turned  it  towards  Mademoh 
selle  Victorine.  Well,  there ’s  a Providence  for  chil 
dren ; a little  more,  and  he  would  have  cracked  his 
skull  against  the  back  of  the  chair.  Are  not  they  a 
pretty  couple  ? ” 

Please  be  silent/’  cried  Madame  Couture,  you  are 
saying  things  which  — ” 

‘‘Bah!”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  ‘‘he  can’t  hear  any- 
thing. Come,  Sylvie,  and  dress  me.  I am  going  to 
put  on  my  best  corset.” 

“Madame!  your  best  corset  after  dinner!  cried 
Sylvie.  “No,  get  somebody  else  to  lace  it.  I wont 

15 


226  Pere  Goriot 

be  the  death  of  you.  You  risk  your  life,  I tell  you 
that ! ” 

‘‘  I don’t  care  ; I am  going  to  do  honor  to  Monsieur 
Vautrin.” 

You  must  be  very  fond  of  your  heirs!  ” 

‘‘  Come,  Sylvie,  no  talking,”  said  the  widow,  leaving 
the  room. 

“ At  her  age  ! ” said  Sylvie,  pointing  at  her  mistress 
and  looking  at  Victorine. 

Madame  Couture  and  her  ward  remained  alone  in 
the  dining-room,  the  head  of  Eugene  resting  against 
Victorine’s  shoulder.  Christophe’s  loud  snoring  echoed 
through  the  house  and  made  a contrast  to  the  peaceful 
slumbers  of  the  student,  who  was  sleeping  as  quietly 
as  an  infant.  Happy  in  allowing  herself  one  of  those 
tender  acts  of  charity  so  dear  to  womanhood,  and  in 
feeling,  without  reproach,  the  heart  of  the  young  man 
beating  against  her  own,  Victorine’s  sweet  face  took 
on  a look  of  maternal  pride  and  protection.  Across 
the  thousand  thoughts  that  stirred  her  heart  there 
came  a tumultuous  sense  of  her  new  joy,  filling  her 
young  veins  with  pure  and  sacred  warmth. 

“ Poor  darling ! ” said  Madame  Couture,  pressing  her 
hand. 

The  old  lady  gazed  into  the  fair  sad  face,  round 
which  for  the  first  time  shone  the  halo  of  human  happi- 
ness. Victorine  resembled  one  of  those  quaint  pictures 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  where  the  accessories  are  meagre 
or  left  to  the  imagination,  while  the  artist  spends  the 
magic  of  his  calm  and  noble  art  upon  the  face  of  his 
Madonna,  yellow  perhaps  in  tone,  but  reflecting  from 
the  heaven  above  its  golden  tints  of  glory. 


Pere  Croriot. 


227 


«He  only  drank  two  glasses,  Mamma,”  she  said, 
passing  her  fingers  over  his  hair. 

“ If  he  were  a dissipated  man,  my  dear,  he  could  have 
taken  his  wine  like  all  the  rest ; the  fact  that  it  ovei- 
came  him  proves  the  contrary. 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard. 

“Mamma,”  said  the  young  girl  hastily,  “ here  comes 
Monsieur  Vautrin  ; take  my  place  by  Monsieur  Eugene. 

I would  rather  not  be  seen  thus  by  that  man.  He^says 
tilings  that  sully  the  soul,  and  his  look  abases  me.” 

“ No,  no,”  said  Madame  Couture,  “ you  do  him  in- 
justice. Monsieur  Vautrin  is  a worthy  man,  — some- 
what in  the  style  of  the  late  Monsieur  Couture,  brusque 
but  kindly  ; a benevolent  bear.” 

At  this  moment  Vautrin  came  softly  in  and  looked 
at  the  young  couple,  on  whom  the  light  of  a lamp  fell 
caressingly. 

“ Well,  well ! ” he  said,  folding  his  arms,  “ there ’s  a 
scene  that  might  have  inspired  some  of  the  finest  pages 
of  that  good  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  author  of  ‘ Paul 
and  Virginia.’  Youth  is  very  beautiful,  Madame  Cou- 
ture. Sleep,  my  poor  boy,”  he  added,  looking  down 
on  Eugene  ; “ our  blessings  come  to  us  sleeping.  Ma- 
dame,’’ he  said  presently,  “ what  attaches  me  to  this 
young  man,  and  moves  my  heart  as  I gaze  upon  him, 
is  that  I know  the  beauty  of  his  soul  to  be  in  haimony 
with  the  beauty  of  his  face.  See ! is  it  not  the  head  of 
a cherubim  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  an  angel  ? He  is 
worthy  of  a woman’s  love.  If  I were  a woman  I would 
be  willing  to  die  — no ! not  such  a fool  — to  live  for 
him.  As  I gaze  upon  those  two,  Madame,  he  whis- 
pered, bending  till  he  almost  touched  her  ear,  “I 


228 


Pere  Groriot. 


cannot  help  thinking  that  God  has  created  them  for  one 
another.  The  ways  of  Providence  are  full  of  mystery  ; 
they  try  the  reins  and  the  heart.  Seeing  you  together, 
my  children,”  he  added  aloud,  “united  by  an  equal 
purity,  and  by  every  emotion  of  the  human  heart,  I feel 
it  is  impossible  that  anything  should  part  you  in  the 
future.  -God  is  just.  But,”  he  continued,  addressing 
the  young  girl,  “I  think  I have  noticed  on  your  hand 
the  lines  of  prosperity.  I know  something  of  palra° 
istry.  I often  tell  fortunes.  Let  me  take  your  hand, 
Mademoiselle  Victorine,  — don’t  be  afraid.  Oh  ! what 
do  I see  ? On  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  it  will  not 
be  long  before  you  are  one  of  the  richest  heiresses 
in  Paris!  You  will  make  the  man  who  loves  you 
supremely  happy.  Your  father  will  call  you  to  him. 
You  will  marry  a man  of  title,  young,  handsome,  and 
who  adores  you.” 

At  this  moment  the  heavy  steps  of  the  coquettish 
widow  interrupted  Vautrin’s  prophecies. 

“ Here  is  Mamma  V auquer-r-re,  as  fair  as  a star-r-r, 
and  decked  out  like  a carrot.  Are  we  not  just  a little 
bit  uncomfortable,”  he  added,  putting  his  hand  on  the 
top  of  her  busk.  “ It  strikes  me  we  are  squeezed  a 
shade  too  tight.  Mamma.  If  the  play  should  make  us 
cry,  there  would  be  an  explosion  : but  I will  pick  up 
the  pieces  with  the  care  of  an  antiquary.” 

“ He  knows  the  language  of  French  gallantry, 
does  n’t  he  ? ” whispered  the  widow  in  the  ear  of  Ma- 
dame Couture. 

“ Farewell,  my  children ! ” said  Vautrin,  turning 
towards  Victorine  and  Eugene.  “I  bless  you,”  he  i 
added,  laying  his  hands  upon  their  heads.  “ Believe 


Pere  Qoriot. 


229 


me,  Mademoiselle,  there  is  value  in  the  blessing  of  ^an 
honest  man  ; it  will  bring  you  joy,  for  God  hears  it.” 

“ Good-by,  my  dear  friend,”  said  Madame  Vauquer 
to  Madame  Couture.  “Do  you  think,”  she  added  in 
a whisper,  “that  Monsieur  Vautrin  has  intentions 
towards  me  ? ” 

« Ah ! my  dear  mother,”  said  Victorine,  looking  at  her 
hands  with  a sigh  after  the  others  had  departed,  ‘‘  sup- 
pose that  good  Monsieur  V autrin  spoke  the  truth  ? 

‘‘  One  thing  could  make  it  true,”  replied  the  old 
lady ; “ your  monster  of  a brother  need  only  be  thrown 
from  his  horse  — ” 

‘‘  Oh,  Mamma  ! ” 

« Mon  Dieu,  perhaps  it  is  a sin  to  wish  harm  to  one’s 
enemy.  Well,  I will  do  penance  for  it.  But,  truly,  I 
should  not  be  sorry  to  lay  flowers  on  his  grave.  He 
has  a hard  heart.  He  never  defended  his  mother  , he 
took  all  her  fortune,  and  cheated  you  out  of  your  share 
of  it.  My  cousin  had  a great  deal  of  money.  Unfor- 
tunately for  you  there  was  no  mention  of  her  dot  in 
her  marriage  contract.” 

My  prosperity  would  be  hard  to  bear  if  it  cost 
any  one  his  life,”  said  Victorine ; ‘‘  and  if  to  make  me 
happy  my  brother  had  to  die,  I would  rather  be  as  I 
am  now.” 

Well,  well ! As  that  good  Monsieur  Vautrin  says, 
who,  you  see,  is  full  of  religious  feeling,”  said  Madame 
Couture,  — I am  glad  to  think  he  is  not  an  unbe- 
liever, like  so  many  others,  who  talk  of  God  with  less 
respect  than  they  do  of  the  Devil,  — well,  as  he  says, 
who  knows  by  what  ways  it  will  please  Providence  to 
guide  us  ? ” 


230 


Pere  Goriot. 


Aided  by  Sylvie,  the  two  women  took  Eugene  tc 
his  chamber  and  placed  him  on  his  bed,  Sylvie  un- 
fastening his  clothes  to  make  him  more  comfortable. 
Before  leaving  him,  and  when  Madame  Couture  had 
turned  to  go,  Victorine  laid  a little  kiss  upon  his  fore- 
head, with  a rapture  of  happiness  naturally  to  be  ex- 
pected from  so  criminal  an  act!  She  looked  round 
the  chamber,  gathered  up,  as  it  were,  in  one  thought 
all  the  joys  of  this  happy  day,  made  a picture  in  her 
memory  that  she  treasured  long,  and  fell  asleep  the 
happiest  creature  in  all  Paris. 

The  gay  frolic  under  cover  of  which  Vautrin  had 
drugged  the  wine  of  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  decided 
his  own  fate.  Bianchon,  half  tipsy,  forgot  to  question 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  concerning  Trompe-la-Mort. 
If  he  had  uttered  that  name  he  would  have  put  Vau- 
trin on  his  guard,  — or  rather,  to  give  him  his  true 
name,  Jacques  Collin,  one  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
galleys.  Moreover,  the  nickname  of  Venus  of  Pere- 
la-Chaise  decided  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  to  give 
him  up  at  the  very  moment  when,  confident  of  his  lib- 
erality, she  had  calculated  that  it  was  better  policy 
to  warn  him  and  let  him  escape  during  the  night. 
Accompanied  by  Poiret,  she  went  in  search  of  the 
famous  chief  of  detectives  in  the  Petite  Rue  fjainte- 
Anne,  under  the  impression  that  she  was  dealing  with 
an  upper-class  employe  named  Gondureau.  The  direc- 
tor of  the  secret  police  received  her  graciously.  Then, 
after  a conversation  in  which  the  preliminaries  were 
settled.  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  asked  for  the  dose 
by  the  help  of  which  she  was  to  do  her  work.  Th.^ 


Pere  Goriot. 


261 


:esture  of  satisfaction  made  by  the  great  man  as  he 
earched  for  the  phial  in  the  drawer  of  his  writing- 
able,  gave  her  a sudden  conviction  that  there  was 
Qore  in  this  capture  than  the  mere  arrest  of  an  escaped 
onvict.  By  dint  of  beating  her  brains  and  putting 
wo  and  two  together,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  police  hoped,  through  revelations  made  by  con- 
dcts  won  over  at  the  galleys,  to  lay  their  hands  upon 
L large  amount  of  money.  When  she  expressed  this 
conjecture  to  the  fox  with  whom  she  was  dealing,  he 
imiled  and  tried  to  turn  aside  her  suspicions. 

‘‘  You  are  mistaken,”  he  said.  Collin  is  the  most 
langerous  sorbonne  ever  known  among  our  robbers, 
rhat ’s  the  whole  of  it.  The  rascals  know  this.  He 
s their  shield,  their  banner,  — their  Bonaparte,  in 
ihort.  They  all  love  him.  That  scoundrel  will  never 
eave  his  tronche  on  the  Place  de  Greve.” 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  did  not  understand  him  ; 
but  Gondureau  explained  to  her  the  slang  expressions 
be  had  made  use  of.  Sorbonne  and  tronche  are  two 
energetic  words  of  the  thieves’  vocabulary,  invented 
because  these  gentry  were  the  first  to  feel  the  need  of 
considering  the  human  head  from  two  standpoints. 
SorbonmM  the  head  of  the  living  man,  — his  intellect 
and  wisdom.  Tronche  is  a word  of  contempt,  express- 
ing the  worthlessness  of  the  head  after  it  is  cut  off. 

‘‘Collin  baffles  us,”  resumed  the  chief  “When  we 
have  to  do  with  men  of  his  stamp,  of  steel  and  iron, 
the  law  allows  us  to  kill  them  on  the  spot  if,  when  ar- 
rested, they  make  the  slightest  resistance.  We  expect 
a struggle  which  will  authorize  us  to  shoot  Collin  to^ 
morrow  morning.  AYe  thus  avoid  a trial  aiid  the  costs 


232 


Pere  Goriot, 


of  imprisonment  and  subsistence,  and  society  is  quit 
of  him.  The  lawyers  and  the  witnesses,  their  pay  and 
expenses,  the  execution,  and  all  the  rest  that  is  re- 
quired to  rid  us  legally  of  such  villains  cost  more 
than  the  three  thousand  francs  we  are  to  pay  you 
Besides,  it  saves  time.  The  thrust  of  a bayonet  into 
Troinpe-la-Mort’s  paunch  will  prevent  a hundred 
crimes,  and  spare  us  the  consequences  of  the  corrupt 
tion  of  fifty  ill-disposed  scoundrels,  who  are  always 
hovering  on  the  verge  of  mischief.  That’s  the  true 
function  of  the  police,  — prevention  of  crime.  Philan- 
thropists will  tell  you  so.” 

“ It  is  serving  one’s  country,”  cried  Poiret. 

‘‘Yes,”  replied  the  chief;  “certainly  we  are  serving 
our  country : you  are  talking  some  sense  this  morning. 
People  are  very  unjust  to  us  in  this  respect.  We  ren- 
der society  great  services,  and  society  overlooks  them. 
It  takes  superior  men  to  endure  prejudice;  only  a 
Christian  can  accept  the  reproach  that  doing  good  in- 
curs when  it  is  not  done  exactly  in  the  line  of  received 
traditions.  Paris  is  Paris,  you  know.  That  saying 
explains  my  life.  — I have  the  honor  to  salute  you, 
Mademoiselle.  I shall  be  with  my  men  in  the  Jardin 
du  Roi  to-morrow  morning.  Send  Christophe  to  the 
Rue  de  Bufibn  aud  ask  for  Monsieur  Gondureau  at  the 
house  where  I was  staying.  Monsieur,  your  servant. 
If  anybody  ever  robs  you,  let  me  know,  and  I will  re- 
cover what  is  lost  for  you.  I am  at  your  service.” 

“Well,”  said  Poiret  to  Mile.  Michonneau,  “there  are 
fools  in  the  world  who  are  all  upset  by  the  word  ‘ detec- 
tive.’ That  gentleman  is  very  amiable  ; and  what  he 
asks  of  you  is  as  easy  as  saying  ‘ How  do  you  do ? ’”  i 


Pere  Groriot. 


233 


XIV. 


The  next  clay  was  one  long  remembered  in  the  an- 
nals of  the  Maison  Vauquer.  Hitherto  the  most  re- 
markable  event  in  its  history  had  been  the  meteoric 
apparition  of  the  fraudulent  countess.  But  all  was  to 
pale  before  the  catastrophes  of  this  great  day,  which 
for  the  rest  of  her  life  supplied  Madame  Vauquer  with 
topics  of  conversation.  In  the  first  place,  Pere  Goriot 
and  Eugene  slept  till  eleven  o’clock.  Madame  Yau- 
quer,  who  did  not  get  home  from  the  theatre  till  very 
late,  stayed  in  bed  till  half-past  ten.  Christophe,  who 
had  finished  the  bottle  of  wine  made  over  to  him  by 
Yautrin,  slept  so  late  that  everything  was  behindhand 
in  the  household.  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michon- 
neau  made  no  complaint  about  breakfast  being  late. 
As  for  Victorine  and  Madame  Couture,  they  also  skpt 
far  into  the  morning.  Yautrin  went  out  before  eight 
o’clock,  and  got  home  just  as  breakfast  was  on  the 
table.  No  one,  therefore,  offered  any  remonstrance 
when,  at  a quarter  past  eleven,  Sylvie  and  Christophe 
knocked  at  all  the  doors  and  said  that  breakfast  was 
served.  While  they  were  out  of  the  dining-room. 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  was  the  first  person 
down  that  morning,  poured  her  liquid  into  the  silver 
goblet  belonging  to  Yautrin,  in  which  the  cream  for 
his  coffee  was  heating  in  the  Min-marie,  together 


234 


Fere  Groriot. 


with  the  portions  of  the  other  guests.  The  old  maid 
had  counted  on  this  custom  of  the  house  to  accom- 
plish her  purpose. 

It  was  not  without  difficulty  that  the  family  were 
finally  got  together.  At  the  moment  when  Rastignac, 
still  stretching  himself,  came  last  of  all  into  the  dining- 
room, a messenger  gave  him  a note  from  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  which  ran  as  follows  : — 

I will  not  show  false  pride,  nor  will  I he  angry  with  you, 
my  friend.  I waited,  expecting  you,  till  two  in  the  morning. 
To  wait  for  one  we  love ! — He  who  has  known  such  pain 
would  not  impose  it  on  another.  It  proves  to  me  that  you 
have  never  loved  till  now.  What  has  happened  ? I am  very 
anxious.  If  I did  not  fear  to  betray  the  secrets  of  my  heart  I 
should  have  gone  to  find  out  whether  joy  or  sorrow  had  befallen 
you.  I feel  the  disadvantage  of  being  only  a woman.  Ee- 
assure  me ; explain  to  me  why  you  did  not  come  after  what 
my  father  told  you.  I may  be  angry,  but  I shall  forgive  you. 
Are  you  ill?  Why  do  you  live  so  far  away  from  me  ? One 
word  for  pity’s  sake  ! You  will  be  here  soon,  wiU  you  not  ? 
Say  merely,  ‘ I am  coming,^  or  ^I  am  ill.^  But  if  you  were 
ill,  my  father  would  have  been  here  to  tell  me.  What  has 
happened  ? — 

“ Yes,  what  has  happened  ?”  cried  Eugene,  hurriedly 
entering  the  dining-room,  and  crumpling  up  his  note 
without  reading  the  rest  of  it.  What  o’clock  is  it  ? ” 

“Half-past  eleven,”  said  Vautrin,  putting  sugar  in 
his  coffee. 

The  escaped  convict  gave  Eugene  that  glance  of 
cold  compelling  fascination  which  very  magnetic  people 
have  the  power  of  giving,  — a glance  which  is  said  to 
subdue  the  maniacs  in  a mad-house.  Eugene  trembled 


Pere  Groriot. 


235 


in  every  limb.  The  roll  of  a carriage  was  heard  in  the 
still  street,  and  a servant  in  the  Taillefer  livery,  which 
Madame  Couture  recognized  at  once,  came  hurriedly 
into  the  dining-room,  with  an  excited  air. 

Mademoiselle,”  he  cried,  ‘‘  Monsieur  your  father 
has  sent  for  you.  A great  misfortune  has  befallen  him. 
Monsieur  Frederic  has  fought  a duel.  He  received  a 
sword-thrust  in  the  forehead.  The  doctors  have  no 
hope  of  saving  him.  You  will  hardly  be  in  time  to  see 
him  breathe  his  last.  He  is  unconscious  already.” 

^‘Poor  young  man!”  exclaimed  Vautrin,  how  can 
people  quarrel  when  they  have  thirty  thousand  francs 
a year ! Most  assuredly  young  men  do  not  tread  the 
paths  of  wisdom  — ” 

Monsieur ! ” interrupted  Eugene. 

“Well!  — and  what  of  it,  you  big  baby?”  said 
Vautrin,  quietly  finishing  his  cup  of  coffee,  an  opera- 
tion which  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  watched  so  in- 
tently that  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  extraordinary  event 
that  stupefied  the  people  around  her.  “ Are  there  not 
duels  every  day  in  Paris  ? ” 

“ I shall  go  with  you,  Victorine,”  said  Madame 
Couture. 

The  two  women  flew  off  without  hats  or  shawls. 
Victorine,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  gave  Eugene  a part- 
ing glance,  which  said,  “ I did  not  think  our  happiness 
would  so  soon  have  turned  to  grief ! ” 

“Why,  you  are  quite  a prophet.  Monsieur  Vautrin,” 
said  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ I am  all  things,”  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

“ It  is  most  singular,”  said  Madame  Vauquer,  break- 
ing forth  into  a string  of  commonplaces.  “Death  takes 


236 


Pere  Ooriot, 


us  without  warning.  Young  people  are  often  called 
before  the  aged.  It  is  lucky  for  us  women  that  we  are 
not  expected  to  fight  duels.  But  we  have  maladies 
of  our  own  unknown  to  men,  — child-bed  especially. 
What  unexpected  luck  for  Victorine  ! Her  father  will 
be  forced  to  acknowledge  her.” 

“ Just  think,”  said  Vautrin,  looking  at  Eugene, 
“ yesterday  she  had  not  a sou  ; this  morning  she  has  a 
fortune  of  millions.” 

‘‘  Ah  ! Monsieur  Eugene,”  cried  Madame  Vauquer, 
‘‘  you  put  your  hand  in  the  bag  at  the  right  moment.” 

As  Madame  Vauquer  said  this,  Pere  Goriot  looked  at 
Eugene  and  saw  the  crumpled  letter  in  his  hand. 

‘‘  You  have  not  read  it,”  he  said.  ‘‘What  does  that 
mean  ? Are  you  like  all  the  rest  ? ” 

“ Madame,  I shall  never  marry  Mademoiselle  Victo- 
rine,”  said  Eugene,  addressing  Madame  Vauquer  with 
an  expression  of  mingled  horror  and  disgust  which 
astonished  the  others  at  the  table. 

Pere  Goriot  seized  the  student’s  hand  and  pressed 
it ; he  would  fain  have  kissed  it. 

“ Oh  ! oh  !”  said  Vautrin,  “they  have  an  excellent 
saying  in  Italy,  — col  tempor 

“ I was  to  wait  for  an  answer,”  said  the  messenger  to 
Rastignac. 

“ Say  I am  coming.” 

The  man  went  away.  Eugene’s  agitation  was  so 
great  that  he  could  not  be  prudent. 

“ What  can  be  done  ? ” he  said  aloud,  though  speak- 
ing to  himself,  “I  have  no  proofs.” 

Vautrin  smiled.  At  this  moment  the  potion  ab- 
sorbed by  the  stomach  began  to  take  effect.  Never- 


Pere  Goriot. 


237 


heless  the  convict  was  so  vigorous  that  he  rose,  looked 
t Rastignac,  and  said  in  a hollow  voice,  “ Young  man, 
■ur  blessings  come  to  us  while  we  sleep.” 

As  he  said  the  words  he  fell  down,  to  all  appearance 
lead. 

“ The  justice  of  God  ! ” cried  Eugene. 

“ Why,  what ’s  the  matter  with  him,  poor  dear  Mon- 
ieur  Vautrin,”  exclaimed  Madame  Vauquer. 

“ It  is  apoplexy,”  cried  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

« Sylvie ! run,  my  girl,  go  for  the  doctor,”  said  the 
vidow.  “ Ah,  Monsieur  Rastignac,  go,  please,  and  get 
donsieur  Bianchon ; perhaps  Sylvie  will  not  find  our 
»wn  doctor.  Monsieur  Grimprel.” 

Rastignac,  glad  of  the  excuse  to  escape  from  that 
lorrible  den,  rushed  away  at  full  speed. 

“Christophe!  here,  — go  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the 
ipothecary’s,  and  ask  him  to  give  you  something  for 
ipoplexy.  Pere  Goriot,  help  us  to  carry  him  up  to  his 
)wn  room.” 

Vautrin  was  seized ; dragged  with  difficulty  up  the 
;taircase,  and  laid  upon  his  bed. 

“ I can  be  of  no  further  use ; I am  going  to  see  my 
laughter,”  said  Monsieur  Goriot. 

“ Selfish  old  thing ! ” cried  Madame  Vauquer.  “ Go  ! 
[ only  wish  you  may  die  like  a dog  yourself.” 

“ See  if  you  have  any  ether,  Madame  Vauquer,”  said 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  with  the  aid  of  Poiret 
lad  unfastened  Vautrin’s  clothes. 

Madame  Vauquer  went  to  her  own  room  and  left 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  mistress  of  the  field. 

“Come,  quick!  — take  off  his  shirt  and  turn  him 
over.  Be  good  for  something  — so  far,  at  least,  as  to 


238  Fere  Groriot. 

save  my  modesty,”  she  said  to  Poiret ; “ you  stanc 
there  like  a fool.” 

Vautrin  being  turned  over,  Mademoiselle  Mich  on 
neau  gave  him  a smart  tap  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  twc 
fatal  letters  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  red  circle. 

Well,  you  have  not  had  much  trouble  in  earning 
your  three  thousand  francs,”  cried  Poiret,  holding 
Vautrin  up  while  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  put 
ting  on  his  shirt  again.  “ Ouf ! but  he  is  heavy,”  he 
'V  said,  laying  him  down. 

Hold  your  tongue  ! I wonder  if  there  is  a strong- 
box — or  a safe  ? ” said  the  old  maid  with  avidity,  her 
eyes  almost  looking  through  the  walls  as  she  glanced 
eagerly  at  every  bit  of  furniture  in  the  room.  “ If  one 
could  only  open  this  writing-desk  on  some  pretext,” 
she  said. 

‘‘Perhaps  that  would  n’t  be  right,”  remarked  Poiret. 

“ Where ’s  the  harm  ? Stolen  money  belongs  to  no 
one  — it  is  anybody’s.  But  we  have  not  time,  I hear 
the  Yauquer.” 

“ Here  is  the  ether,”  said  the  widow.  “Well,  I de- 
clare, this  is  a day  of  adventures — but,  look!  that  man 
cannot  be  so  very  ill;  he  is  as  white  as  a chicken.” 

“ As  a chicken,”  repeated  Poiret. 

“ His  heart  beats  regularly,”  said  Madame  Yauquer, 
placing  her  hand  upon  it. 

“ Regularly  ? — does  it  though  ? ” said  Poiret,  sur- 
prised. 

“ He  is  all  right.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ? ” asked  Poiret. 

“ Why,  yes  ! he  looks  as  if  he  were  sleeping.  Sylvie 
has  gone  for  the  doctor.  Look,  Mademoiselle  Michom 


Pere  Goriot, 


239 


aeau,  he  is  sniffing  the  ether.  Bah ! it  was  only  a 
kind  of  spasm  ; his  pulse  is  good.  He  is  as  strong  as 
a.  Turk.  Just  see,  Mademoiselle,  what  a fur  tippet  he 
bas  got  on  his  breast ! He  will  live  to  be  a hundred, 
be  will ! His  wig  has  n’t  tumbled  off  — goodness  ! 
^hy,  it  is  glued  on.  He  has  got  some  hair  of  his  own 
— and  it ’s  red ! They  say  men  with  red  hair  are 
either  very  good  or  very  bad : he  is  one  of  the  good 
3nes.” 

“ Good  enough  to  hang,”  interrupted  Poiret. 

‘‘  Round  a pretty  woman’s  neck,  you  mean,”  cried 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  quickly.  ‘‘  Go  downstairs, 
Monsieur  Poiret.  It  is  our  place  to  take  care  of  you 
men  when  you  are  ill.  You  had  better  go  out  and 
take  a walk, — for  all  the  good  you  do,”  she  added. 
‘‘Madame  Vauquer  and  I will  sit  here  and  watch  this 
dear  Monsieur  Vautrin.” 

Thus  admonished,  Poiret  slunk  off  without  a mur- 
mur, like  a hound  that  has  got  a kick  from  its  master. 

Rastignac  had  gone  to  walk,  to  breathe  fresh  air,  for 
be  was  stifled.  What  had  happened  ? The  crime  had 
been  committed  at  the  hour  fixed ; he  had  wanted  to 
put  a stop  to  it  the  evening  before  — what  had  hin- 
dered ? What  must  he  do  now  ? He  trembled  lest  in 
some  way  he  was  an  accomplice.  Vautrin’s  cool  as- 
surance horrified  him  still. 

“ Suppose  he  dies  without  speaking  ? ” he  asked 
bimself. 

He  was  walking  breathlessly  along  the  alleys  of  the 
Luxembourg,  as  if  pursued  by  a pack  of  hounds  : he 
seemed  to  hear  them  yelping  on  his  traces. 


240  Pere  Croriot, 

Here ! ” cried  the  voice  of  Bianchon,  have  you 
seen  the  Piloted 

The  Pilate  was  a radical  paper  edited  by  Monsieur 
Tissot,  which  made  up  a country  edition  a few  hours 
after  the  appearance  of  the  morning  papers,  and  often 
contained  items  of  later  news. 

“ There ’s  a great  affair  in  it,”  said  Bianchon ; young 
Taillefer  has  fought  a duel  with  Comte  de  Pranchessini 
of  the  Old  Guard,  who  ran  two  inches  of  his  sword 
into  his  forehead.  So  now  the  little  Victorine  is  one 
of  the  best  matches  in  Paris.  Hein  ! if  one  had  only 
known  it!  What  a game  of  chance  life  is — and 
death,  too.  Is  it  true  that  Victorine  looks  upon  you 
with  an  eye  of  favor,  my  boy  ? ” 

Hush,  Bianchon  ! I will  never  marry  her.  I love 
a charming  woman,  — a woman  who  loves  me.  I — ” 
Well,  you  say  it  in  a tone  as  if  you  were  goading 
yourself  not  to  give  up  your  charming  woman.  Show 
me  the  lady  worth  the  sacrifice  of  the  wealth  of  the 
house  of  Taillefer.” 

“ Are  all  the  devils  on  my  track  ? ” cried  Rastignac. 

« Why,  what  are  you  about  ? Have  you  gone  mad  ? 
Give  me  your  wrist,”  said  Bianchon,  I want  to  feel 
your  pulse.  You  have  got  a fever.” 

“Go  at  once  to  Mother  Vauquer’s,”  said  Eugene: 
“that  scoundrel  Vautrin  has  just  dropped  dead.” 

“ Ah-h  ! ” cried  Bianchon,  dropping  Rastignac’s 
hand,  “that  confirms  my  suspicions;  I will  make  sure 
about  them.” 

During  his  long  walk  Eugene  passed  through  a 
solemn  crisis.  He  made,  as  it  were,  the  circuit  of  his 
conscience.  If  he  struggled  with  his  own  soul,  if 


Pere  Croriot. 


241 


he  hankered  and  hesitated,  it  must  be  owned  that  his 
probity  came  out  of  that  bitter  and  terrible  discus- 
sion like  a bar  of  iron,  proof  against  every  test.  He 
remembered  the  secret  Pere  Goriot  had  let  drop  the 
day  before.  He  thought  of  the  appartement  chosen 
for  him  by  Delphine  in  the  Rue  d’ Artois.  He  took 
out  her  letter,  and  re-read  it,  and  kissed  it. 

‘^Her  love  is  my  sheet  anchor/’  he  said.  “ The  poor 
old  man,  too,  — he  has  had  much  to  suffer  ! He  says 
nothing  of  his  griefs,  but  who  cannot  guess  what  they 
have  been  to  him?  Well,  I will  take  care  of  him 
as  if  he  were  my  father ; I will  give  him  the  joys  he 
longs  for.  If  she  loves  me  she  will  sometimes  come 
and  pass  the  day  with  him.  — That  grand  Comtesse 
de  Restaud  is  a vile  woman  ; she  shuts  her  doors 
against  her  father.  Dear  Delphine ! she  is  kinder 
to  the  poor  old  man  — yes ! she  is  worth  loving.” 
He  drew  out  his  watch  and  admired  it.  Everything 
will  go  well  with  me,”  he  said.  When  people  love 
each  other,  what  harm  is  there  in  accepting  mutual 
gifts?  I may  keep  it.  Besides,  I shall  succeed, 
and  repay  her  a hundredfold.  In  this  lictison  there 
is  no  crime,  — nothing  to  make  the  strictest  virtue 
frown.  W^e  deceive  no  one  i it  is  falsehood  that  makes 
us  vile.  How  many  honorable  people  contract  just 
such  unions!  Her  quarrel  with  her  husband  is  irre- 
mediable.— Suppose  I were  to  ask  him,  that  big 
Alsatian,  to  give  up  to  me  a woman  he  can  never 
render  happy  ? ” 

* The  struggle  of  his  mind  lasted  long.  Though  the 
victory  remained  with  the  virtues  of  youth,  and  he 
repulsed  the  temptation  to  make  himself  the  accom- 


242 


Pere  Goriot, 


plice  of  a deed  of  blood,  he  was  nevertheless  drawn 
back  at  dusk  to  the  Maison  Vauquer  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  of  curiosity.  He  swore  to  himself  that  he 
would  quit  the  place  forever,  but  he  must  know  if 
Vautrin  was  dead. 

Bianchon  after  administering  an  emetic  had  taken 
the  matters  vomited  by  Vautrin  to  his  hospital  for 
chemical  analysis.  When  he  saw  Mademoiselle  Mich- 
onneau’s  anxiety  to  have  them  thrown  away  his  sus- 
picions increased;  but  Vautrin  got  over  the  attack  so 
quickly  that  he  soon  dropped  the  idea  of  a plot  against 
the  life  of  that  jovial  merry-maker. 

When  Rastignac  came  in,  Vautrin  was  standing  by 
the  stove  in  the  dining-room.  The  guests  had  come 
together  earlier  than  usual,  anxious  to  learn  the  pai- 
ticulars  of  the  duel  and  to  know  what  influence  it 
would  have  on  the  future  of  Victorine.  As  Eugene 
entered,  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  J.mperturbable  sphinx. 
The  look  the  latter  gave  him  pierced  deep  into  his 
heart,  and  touched  some  chords  of  evil  with  so  pow- 
erful a spell  that  he  shivered. 

‘'Well,  my  dear  fellow,”  said  the  escaped  convict, 
“ Death  will  have  a fierce  struggle  to  get  hold  of  me. 
These  ladies  tell  me  I have  recovered  from  a rush  of 
blood  to  the  head  that  would  have  killed  an  ox.” 

“ Indeed,  you  might  say  a bull,”  said  Madame 
Vauquer. 

“Are  you  sorry  to  see  me  alive?”  said  Vautrin  to 
Eugene  in  a wliisper,  divining  his  thought.  “You 
will  find,  on  the  contrary,  that  I am  devilishly  strong.”. 

“Ah,  by  the  by!”  exclaimed  Bianchon,  “the  dayj 
before  yesterday  Mademoiselle  Michoiineau  was  speak- 


Pire  Goriot. 


243 


ing  of  a man  named  Trompe-la-Mort.  That  name 
would  suit  you,  Monsieur  Vautrin.” 

K The  words  were  a thunderbolt  to  Vautrin.  He 
turned  pale  and  staggered.  His  magnetic  glance  fell 
on  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  sank  beneath  the 
power  of  his  eye.  She  fell  back  on  a chaii,  her  knees 
giving  way  under  her.  Poiret  stepped  nimbly  between 
the  two,  understanding  instinctively  that  she  was  in 
danger,  so  ferocious  was  the  expression  of  the  convict 
as  he  threw  off  the  mask  of  good  humor  under  which 
he  had  so  long  concealed  his  real  nature.  Without 
the  least  comprehending  what  was  taking  place  before 
their  eyes,  the  others  saw  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  stood  by  bewildered.  At  that  moment  footsteps 
were  heard  and  the  rattle  of  muskets  in  the  street,  as 
a squad  of  soldiers  brought  their  pieces  to  the  pave- 
ment. While  Collin  cast  a quick  glance  at  the  win- 
dows and  the  walls,  instinctively  looking  for  the  means 
of  escape,  four  men  showed  themselves  at  the  door  of 
the  dining-room.  The  foremost  was  the  chief  of  the 
detective  police,  and  the  three  others  were  members 
of  his  force. 

^ “ In  the  name  of  the  law  and  the  King ! ” said  one  of 

the  latter,  his  words  being  drowned  by  a murmur  of 
amazement ; but  in  a moment  silence  reigned  in  the 
room  as  the  guests  stood  aside  to  give  passage  to  these 
men,  each  of  whom  had  his  right  hand  in  a side-pocket 
where  he  held  a loaded  pistol.  Two  gendarmes,  who 
stepped  in  after  the  detectives,  stood  by  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  salon,  while  two  more  appeared  at  that 
which  opened  towards  the  staircase.  The  tread  and 
the  guns  of  a squad  of  soldiers  outside  sounded  on 


244 


Pere  Goriot. 


the  pebble-paved  space  along  the  side  of  the  building. 
Every  chance  of  flight  was  thus  cut  off  from  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  on  whom  all  eyes  now  turned  in  his  extremity. 
The  chief  went  straight  to  him,  and  gave  him  a blow 
so  vigorously  applied  that  it  tore  the  wig  from  its 
place,  and  showed  the  head  of  Collin  in  all  its  horrible 
integrity.  The  hair,  red  and  . close-cropped,  gave  to  his 
face  a look  of  mingled  strength  and  cunning ; and  the 
harmony  of  the  face  and  head  with  the  stalwart  chest 
revealed  the  whole  being  of  the  man  as  by  a flash 
from  the  fires  of  hell.  All  present  comprehended 
Vautrin,  — his  past,  his  present,  the  future  before  him,^ 
his  implacable  dogmas,  the  religion  of  his  own  good 
pleasure,  the  dominion  he  had  exercised  by  the  cyni- 
cism of  his  ideas  and  his  acts,  and  by  the  force  of  his 
extraordinary  organism,  /rhe  blood  rushed  to  his 
face,  and  his  eyes  glittered  like  those  of  a wildcat. 
He  made  one  bound  of  savage  energy ; he  uttered  one 
roar,  so  ferocious  that  the  people  near  him  shrank  back 
in  fear.  At  this  movement,  like  that  of  a lion  at  bay, 
and  assuming  to  be  justified  by  the  terror  of  the  by- 
standers, the  detectives  drew  their  pistols.  Collin  no 
sooner  heard  the  cocking  of  the  triggers  than  he  un- 
derstood his  danger,  aud  gave  instant  proof  of  the 
highest  of  human  powers,  — horrible,  yet  majestic 
spectacle  ! His  whole  being  passed  through  a pheno- 
menal change  which  can  only  be  compared  to  that 
which  takes  place  in  a boiler  full  of  the  steam  that  can 
blast  mountains  in  its  might,  and  yet  at  the  touch  of 
a drop  of  cold  water  sinks  into  instant  dissolution. 
The  drop  of  water  which  in  a moment  calmed  his 
rage  was  a reflection  that  flashed,  quick  as  lightning, 


Pere  Croriot, 


245 


through  his  brain.  He  smiled  quietly,  and  glanced  at 

his  wig.  ^ 1 

« This  is  not  one  of  your  polite  days,”  he  said  to  the 

chief  of  police,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  gen- 
darmes with  a motion  of  his  head.  Messieurs,  put 
"on  the  handcuiFs.  I take  all  present  to  witness  that  I 
ipake  no  resistance.” 

('  A murmur  of  admiration,  called  forth  by  the  promp- 
titude with  which  this  wondrous  man  mastered  the 
fire  and  molten  lava  of  the  volcano  in  his  bieast,  ran 
through  the  room. 

“ That  puts  an  end  to  your  kind  intentions,”  he  said, 
looking  full  at  the  celebrated  director  of  the  detective 
police. 

“Come,  undress!”  said  the  chief,  in  a tone  of 
contempt. 

“ What  for  ? ” asked  Collin.  “ There  are  ladies 
present.  I deny  nothing,  and  I surrender. 

He  paused,  and  looked  on  all  around  him  with  the 
air  of  an  orator  about  to  hold  the  attention  of  his 
audience. 

“ Write  down,  Papa  Lachapelle,”  he  said,  address- 
ing a little  old  man  with  white  hair,  who  placed  him- 
self at  the  end  of  the  table,  taking  from  a portfolio  a 
form  for  the  official  report  of  the  arrest,  “ that  I ac- 
knowledge myself  to  be  Jacques  Collin,  condemned  to 
twenty  years?  imprisonment;  and  I have  just  given 
proof  that  I did  not  steal  my  nickname.  If  I had  so 
much  as  lifted  a hand,”  he  said,  turning  to  his  late  com- 
panions, “ those  fellows  would  have  spilled  my  claret  on 
the  domestic  hearthstone  of  Mamma  Vauquer.  These 
rogues  delight  in  setting  snares  for  their  victims. 


246 


Pere  Goriot. 


Madame  Vauquer  turned  pale  on  hearing  these 
words.  ‘‘  Mon  Dieu  / ” she  cried,  “ it  is  enough  to 
bring  on  an  illness ! To  think  of  my  having  been  at 
the  theatre  with  him  only  last  evening  ! ” she  said 
to  Sylvie. 

‘‘  Show  more  philosophy,  Mamma,”  said  Collin. 
“ Was  it  really  a misfortune  to  amuse  yourself  in  my 
box  at  the  Gaite  last  night?  Are  you  better  than  we? 
We  have  less  infamy  branded  on  our  shoulders  than 
you  have  in  your  hearts,  — you  flabby  members  of  a 
gangrened  society ! Even  the  best  among  you  could 
not  hold  out  against  me.”  His  eyes  turned  to  Rastig- 
nac,  to  whom  he  gave  a kindly  smile  in  strange  con- 
trast to  the  harsh  expression  of  his  features.  “ Our 
little  bargain  holds  good,  my  lad,”  he  said ; “ that  is, 
in  case  of  acceptance.  You  know  — ” and  he  sang  : 

‘‘  ‘ My  Fanny  is  charming 
In  her  simplicity/ 

Don’t  be  uneasy,”  he  resumed.  “ I shall  be  all  right 
again  before  long.  They  fear  me  too  much  to  play 
me  false.” 

The  bagne^  with  its  manners  and  vocabulary,  its 
abrupt  transitions  from  the  jocose  to  the  horrible,  its 
fiendish  grandeur,  its  familiarity,  its  degradation,  were 
all  exhibited  to  the  eye  in  the  person  of  this  man,  — 
no  longer  a man,  but  the  type  of  a degenerate  race ; of 
a savage  people,  lawless  yet  logical,  brutal  but  pliant. 
On  a sudden  Collin  had  become  an  infernal  poem,  an 
exposition  of  all  human  emotions  save  one,  — repent- 
ance. His  glance  was  that  of  the  fallen  angel,  prepared 
to  carry  on  a losing  war.  Rastignac  bent  his  head, 
accepting  the  comradeship  thus  forced  upon  him,  in 


Pere  Groriot.  247 

expiation  of  the  evil  thoughts  which  had  brought  him 
near  to  crime. 

“Who  betrayed  me?”  said  Collin,  casting  his 
glance  around  the  circle.  It  stopped  at  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau.  “ Ah ! it  was  you,  sleuth-hound  ! — you 
gave  me  a sham  apoplexy,  you  prying  devil ! If  I said 
two  words,  your  head  would  be  mown  off  in  a week. 
Bat  I forgive  you.  I ’m  a Christian.  Besides,  it  was 
not  you  who  sold  me.  But  who,  then  ? — Ha,  ha ! 
you  are  rummaging  up  there,”  he  cried,  hearing  the 
detectives  overhead,  who  were  opening  his  closets 
and  taking  possession  of  his  effects.  “ The  birds  are 
flown,  the  nest  is  empty.  You  can  find  nothing  there. 
My  ledgers  are  here,”  he  added,  tapping  his  forehead. 
“ Now  I know  who  sold  me.  It  can  be  no  other  than 
that  dirty  blackguard,  Fil  de  Soie.  Is  n’t  it  so.  Father 
Catch’em  ? ” he  said  to  the  chief  of  police.  “ I guess  it 
from  the  way  you  are  looking  for  the  bank-notes  up- 
stairs. None  there,  my  little  spies!  As  for  Fil  de 
Soie, — he’ll  be  under  the  sod  in  a fortnight,  even  if 
you  try  to  guard  him  with  the  whole  force  of  your 
gendarmerie.  How  much  did  you  pay  that  old 
Michonnette  ? ” he  asked,  turning  to  the  police  agents. 
“ Only  a thousand  crowns  ? Why,  I was  worth  more 
than  that,  you  decayed  Ninon  — Pompadour  in  tatters 
— Venus  of  the  cemetery  ! If  you  had  given  me 
warning,  I ’d  have  paid  you  double.  Ha ! you  did 
thirds;  of  it? — Haggler  in  human  flesh!  Yes,  I 
would  have  given  you  six  thousand  francs  to  spare 
myself  a journey  which  I don’t  like,  — and  which  puts 
me  out  of  pocket,”  he  added,  as  they  were  screwing  on 
the  handcuffs.  “These  people  will,  take  pleasure  in 


248 


Pere  GrorioU 


letting  things  drag  along,  just  to  keep  me  idle.  If  they 
would  only  send  me  ofF  to  the  galleys  at  onch,  I should 
soon  get  back  to  my  work,  in  spite  of  those  simpletons 
at  the  prefecture  of  police.  Down  there  in  Toulon 
they  would  turn  their  souls  inside  out  to  set  their  gen- 
eral at  liberty,  — their  trusty  Trompe-la-Mort.  Is 
there  any  one  of  you  who  can  boast  of  having,  as  I 
have,  ten  thousand  brothers  ready  to  do  everything 
for  you  ? ” he  asked  proudly.  “ There  is  virtue  here,” 
striking  his  breast.  have  never  betrayed  any  one. 
Ha!  old  adder!”  he  continued,  addressing  the  old 
maid.  “Look  at  these  people.  They  fear  me,  but 
they  loathe  you.  Pick  up  your  gains  and  begone ! ” 

He  made  a pause,  and  looked  round  upon  the  other 
guests. 

“ What  fools  you  are ! ” he  said.  “ Did  you  never 
see  a convict?  A convict  of  the  stamp  of  Collin,  here 
present,  is  a man  who  is  less  base  than  other  men,  and 
who  protests  against  the  glaring  deceptions  of  the  so- 
cial contract,  as  Jean  Jacques  called  it,  — whose  pupil 
I am  proud  to  be.  For  myself,  I stand  alone  against 
the  Government,  with  all  its  courts  of  law,  its  budgets 
and  gendarmes^  — and  I get  the  better  of  it.” 

“ The  devil ! ” exclaimed  the  painter.  “ I should 
like  to  sketch  him  now.” 

“Tell  me,”  he  continued,  turning  to  the  chief  of 
police,  — “ tell  me,  equerry  to  Monseigneur  the  execu- 
tioner, governor  of  the  Widow  \La  Veuve,  — appalling 
name,  full  of  terrible  poesy,  given  by  the  convicts  to 
the  guillotine]  ; come,  be  a good  fellow  and  say,  was 
it  Fil  de  Soie  who  sold  me?  I should  be  sorry  if  he 
died  for  another;  it  would  not  be  just.” 


Pere  Groriot. 


249 


At  this  moment  the  detectives,  who  had  opened 
3verything  and  taken  an  inventory  of  all  that  was  in 
bis  apartment,  came  down  and  said  something  in  a low 
^oice  to  the  chief  of  police.  The  proch-verbal  (written 
3fficial  report  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  arrest) 
was  now  completed. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Collin,  turning  to  his  late  com- 
panions, “they  are  about  to  take  me  from  you.  You 
have  all  been  very  amiable  to  me  during  my  residence 
among  you,  and  I shall  think  of  you  with  gratitude. 
Receive  my  adieux.  You  will  permit  me  to  send  you 
figs  from  Provence.” 

He  went  a few  steps,  and  then  turned  and  looked  at 
Rastignac. 

“Adieu,  Eugene,”  he  said,  in  a gentle,  sad  voice, 
3trangely  in  contrast  with  the  rough  tone  he  had  used 
hitherto.  “ If  you  are  ever  in  trouble,  remember,  — I 
leave  you  a devoted  friendo”  Notwithstanding  liis 
handcuffs,  he  put  himself  on  guard,  gave  the  word  like 
a fencing-master,  — one,  two,  — and  made  a pass  as  if 
with  the  sword.  “ In  case  of  misfortune,  go  there. 
Man  or  money,  — all  are  at  your  disposal.” 

This  strange  being  put  so  much  buffoonery  into 
these  last  words  that  no  one  present  understood  their 
meaning  except  Rastignac. 

When  the  house  was  vacated  by  the  gendarmes.,  the 
soldiers,  and  the  agents  of  the  police,  Sylvie,  who  was 
bathing  her  mistress’s  forehead  with  vinegar,  looked 
round  upon  the  assembled  household  and  said, — 

“ Well — all  the  same,  he  was  a good  man.” 

These  words  broke  the  spell  which  the  rush  of 
events  and  the  diversity  of  emotions  had  exercised 


250 


Pere  Goriot, 


over  the  spectators  of  this  strange  scene.  They 
glanced  at  each  other,  and  then  by  a common  im- 
pulse all  turned  to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who 
crouched  near  the  stove,  cold,  bloodless,  withered  as  a 
mummy, — her  eyes  cast  down  as  though  she  felt  the 
protection  of  the  green  shade  insufficient  to  concea' 
their  expression.  The  cause  of  the  aversion  they  hac 
long  felt  for  her  was  suddenly  made  clear  to  theii 
minds.  A murmur  of  disgust,  which  by  its  unanimity 
expressed  the  common  feeling  of  all  present,  sounded 
through  the  room.  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  heard 
it,  but  she  did  not  change  her  attitude.  Bianchon 
was  the  first  to  speak.  He  turned  to  the  man  next 
him  and  said,  in  a low  voice, — 

‘‘  I shall  decamp  if  she  is  to  eat  her  dinner  here.” 

Instantly  every  one,  except  Poiret,  accepted  the 
suggestion  ; and  the  medical  student,  sustained  by  pub- 
lic opinion,  walked  up  to  the  old  man. 

‘‘  You  who  enjoy  a special  intimacy  with  Mademoi- 
selle Michonneau,”  he  said,  “ had  better  speak  to  her. 
Make  her  understand  that  she  must  leave  this  house 
without  delay.” 

‘‘Without  delay?”  repeated  Poiret,  astonished. 

Then  he  went  up  to  the  old  maid  and  said  something 
in  a whisper. 

“ But  I have  paid  a month  in  advance ; I have  a 
right  to  stay  here  while  I pay  my  money  like  every- 
body else,”  she  said,  darting  a viperous  glance  at  the 
company. 

“ That  need  not  hinder,”  said  Rastignac,  “ we  will 
all  subscribe  and  return  you  the  money.” 

“ Monsieur  stands  up  for  Collin?  ” she  replied,  casting 


Pere  Goriot.  261 

a venomous  and  searching  look  at  Rastignac.  ‘‘It  is 
easy  to  guess  why.  We  all  heard  his  last  words.” 

Eugene  sprang  forward  as  though  he  would  have 
seized  and  strangled  her. 

“ Let  her  alone  ! ” cried  the  others. 

Rastignac  folded  his  arms  and  stood  mute. 

“We  must  get  rid  of  Mademoiselle  Judas,”  said  the 
painter,  turning  to  Madame  Vauquer.  “ Madame,  if 
you  do  not  turn  out  la  Michonneau  we  shall  all  leave 
you  ; and  we  shall  report  everywhere  that  your  pension 
Ls  frequented  by  spies  and  convicts.  If  you  do  as  we 
demand,  we  will  be  silent  about  what  has  happened,  — 
which,  indeed,  is  liable  to  take  place  in  the  best  estab- 
lishments, until  galley-slaves  are  branded  on  the  fore- 
head and  prevented  from  disguising  themselves  as 
honest  citizens  and  playing  the  buffoon  as  they  please.” 

Hearing  this,  Madame  Vauquer  miraculously  recov- 
Bred  her  senses,  sat  upright,  folded  her  arms,  and  opened 
her  cold  light  eyes,  which  showed  no  trace  of  tears. 

“ But,  my  dear  Monsieur,”  she  said,  “ do  you  mean 
to  ruin  my  house  ? There  is  Monsieur  Yautrin  — oh  ! 
Mon  Dieu^'^  she  cried,  interrupting  herself,  “I  cannot 
help  giving  him  his  honest  name ! — he  leaves  me  a 
whole  suite  of  rooms  vacant;  and  now  you  ask  me  to 
Bonsent  to  have  two  more  rooms  unoccupied  at  a season 
when  everybody  is  settled  ! ” 

“ Come,  gentlemen,  get  your  hats.  We  will  go  and 
line  in  the  Place  Sorbonne  at  Flicoteaux’s,”  said 
Bianchon. 

Madame  Vauquer  made  a rapid  mental  calculation  as 
to  which  side  her  interest  lay,  and  then  waddled  up  to 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 


252 


Pere  Goriot. 


“ Come,  my  dear  good  lady,”  she  said,  you  don^t 
want  to  be  the  death  of  my  establishment,  I am  sure. 
You  see  to  what  an  extremity  I am  reduced  by  the  be- 
havior of  these  gentlemen.  Go  up  to  your  room  for 
this  evening.” 

''  That  won’t  do ! That  will  not  do  at  all ! ” cried  all 
the  others.  ‘‘We  insist  upon  her  leaving  the  house  at 
once.” 

“ But  she  has  not  dined,”  said  Poiret  piteously. 

“ She  can  get  her  dinner  somewhere  else,”  cried 
several  voices. 

“ Begone,  spy ! ” 

“ Down  with  the  spies  — with  both  of  them  ! ” 

“Gentlemen,”  said  Poiret,  suddenly  exhibiting  the 
courage  of  an  old  ram  defending  his  favorite  ewe,  “ re- 
spect her  sex.” 

“ Spies  are  not  of  any  sex.” 

“ Famous  sex-orama  ! ” 

V 

“ A la  porte-orama  I ” 

“Gentlemen,  this  is  indecent.  When  people  are 
dismissed  from  a house  there  are  certain  formalities  to 
be  observed.  We  have  paid  our  board  in  advance, 
and  we  shall  stay,”  said  Poiret,  putting  on  his  amor- 
phous old  hat,  and  taking  a chair  beside  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau,  to  whom  Madame  Vauquer  was  appealing 
in  a low  voice. 

“ Ah  ! you  bad  boy ! ” cried  the  painter  ; “ petit  me- 
chanty  va  ! ” 

“ Come  on,  then,”  said  Bianchon,  “ if  they  are  not 
going,  we  are.” 

At  this  summons  all  the  guests  moved  in  a body  to 
the  door  of  the  salon. 


I 


P^re  Goriot. 


253 


« Mademoiselle ! what  shall  I do  ? I shall  be  ruined ! ” 
3ried  Madame  Vauquer.  ‘'You  cannot  stay— they 
will  proceed  to  violence.” 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  rose. 

“ She  is  going ! ” 

‘‘  She  won’t  go  ! ” 

“ Yes,  she  will !” 

No,  she  won’t !” 

These  alternating  exclamations  and  the  increasing 
hostility  of  all  around  her  decided  the  old  maid,  and 
she  prepared  to  leave,  after  a few  whispered  stipulations 
with  her  landlady. 

“ I am  going  to  Madame  Buneaud’s,”  she  said  with 
a menacing  air. 

“ Go  where  you  choose,  Mademoiselle,”  cried  Madame 
Yauquer,  to  whom  this  choice  of  the  rival  establish- 
ment added  insult  to  injury.  “Go,  if  you  like,  to  the 
Buneaud’s.  She  will  give  you  wine  fit  to  make  the 
goats  caper  with  stomach-ache,  and  stews  made  of  cold 
pieces  from  the  eating-houses.” 

/ The  guests  stood  in  a double  row  in  profound  silence. 
Poiret  looked  so  tenderly  at  Mademoiselle  Michonneau, 
and  yet  was  so  naively  undecided  whether  he  ought  to 
go  or  stay,  that  the  victorious  party,  put  in  good  hu- 
mor by  the  departure  of  the  old  maid,  began  to  laugh 
at  him. 

Xi,  xi,  xi,  Poiret ! ” cried  the  painter,  as  if  setting 
on  a dog ; “ hi,  old  fellow  ! ” 

The  Museum  employ^  began  to  sing,  with  comic 
gestures,  a well-known  ballad : — 

Partant  pour  la  Syrie 
Le  jeune  et  beau  Dunois/' 


254 


Pere  Goriot, 


“ You  had  better  go,  Poiret ; you  are  dying  to  follow 
her,”  cried  Bianchon,  — trahit  sua  quemque  vohiptasP 
“Like  follows  like  — translation  more  liberal  than 
literal  from  Yirgil,”  said  a tutor  who  was  one  of  the 
guests. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  looked  hard  at  Poiret, 
and  made  a movement  as  if  to  take  his  arm.  He  was 
unable  to  resist  the  appeal,  and  came  forward  to  sup- 
port her.  There  was  a burst  of  applause  and  peals  of 
laughter. 

“ Bravo,  Poiret ! ” 

“ Good  for  old  Poiret ! ” 

“ Poiret-Apollo ! ” 

“ Poiret-Mars ! ” 


Plucky  Poiret ! ” 


\ At  this  moment  a messenger  came  in  with  a note 
for  Madame  Vauquer.  She  read  it,  and  sank  down 
upon  a chair. 

“ Now  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  be  struck  by  light- 
ning,” she  said,  “ and  burn  the  house  down  ! Young 
Taillefer  died  at  three  o’clock.  I am  rightly  punished 
for  having  wished  those  ladies  good-luck  at  the  expense 
of  that  poor  young  man.  Madame  Couture  and  Vic- 
torine  have  sent  for  their  things,  and  are  going  to 
live  with  the  father.  Monsieur  Taillefer  allows  his 
daughter  to  keep  the  widow  Couture  as  her  companion. 
Four  appartements  vacant!  Five  lodgers  gone  ! ” she 
said,  with  tears  in  her  voice.  “ Misfortune  has  visited 
my  house  ! ” 

The  roll  of  a carriage  echoed  up  the  quiet  street  and 
stopped  before  the  door. 

“ Here ’s  some  lucky  windfall,”  cried  Sylvie. 


Pere  Gioriot. 


255 


Goriot  came  in,  radiant  with  happiness  ; his  face 
shone  ; he  seemed  transfigured. 

“ Goriot  in  a hackney-coach  ! ” cried  the  others  ; 

“ the  end  of  the  world  has  come ! ” 

The  old  fellow  went  straight  to  Rastignac,  who  was 
standing  apart  dumb-founded,  and  took  him  by  the 
arm.  Come  ! ” he  cried  eagerly. 

‘^Do  you  know  what  has  happened  ?”  said  Eugene; 

Vautrin  was  a convict  escaped  from  the  galleys  ; they 
have  just  arrested  him.  And  young  Taillefer  is  dead.” 

‘‘Well  — what  is  that  to  us ? ” replied  Pere  Goriot; 

“ I am  to  dine  with  my  daughter  to-day  at  your  rooms ; 
you  understand  ? She  is  waiting  for  us.  Come  ! ” 

He  pulled  Rastignac  violently  by  the  arm,  and  car- 
ried him  off  as  if  he  were  a lover  and  Rastignac  a 
woman. 

“ Let  us  sit  down  to  dinner ; ” said  the  painter,  and 
each  took  his  place  at  table. 

“ I declare,”  said  Sylvie,  “ things  do  go  wrong  to- 
day! My  haricot  of  mutton  has  got  stuck.  Well! 
you  will  have  to  eat  it  burned,  whether  or  no.!” 

/ Madame  Vauquer  had  no  heart  to  say  a word  when 
4he  saw  ten  persons  instead  of  eighteen  sitting  down  ^ 
to  table ; but  they  all  made  a good-natured  effort  to 
console  her  and  cheer  her  up  ; and  though  at  first  they 
could  think  of  nothing  but  Vautrin  and  the  startling 
events  of  the  day,  the  serpentine  current  of  their  talk 
soon  led  them  to  duels,  the  galleys,  law-courts,  prisons, 
and  the  reform  of  the  criminal  code,  from  whence  they 
wandered  far  away  from  Jacques  Collin  and  Yictorine 
and  her  brother.  Although  there  were  but  ten  of  them, 
they  made  noise  enough  for  twenty,  and  gave  the  im- 


256 


Pere  Goriot. 


pression  of  being  more  in  number  than  usual,  — which 
was  the  only  apparent  difference  between  the  dinner  of 
to-day  and  the  dinners  of  other  days.  The  habitual 
insouciance  of  that  devil-may-care  world  of  Paris, 
which  each  day  gluts  its  maw  with  the  events  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours,  resumed  its  sway , and  even 
Madame  Vauquer  permitted  herself  to  listen  to  the 
voice  of  hope, — that  divinity  being  represented  by 
the  fat  Sylvie. 


Pere  (xoriot. 


267 


XV. 

This  day  was  destined  to  be,  from  morning  till  night, 
a phantasmagoria  to  Eugene,  who  in  spite  of  his  self- 
command  and  his  strength  of  mind  could  not  collect 
his  scattered  senses  when  he  found  himself  in  the  coach 
beside  Pere  Goriot,  whose  babble  flowed  joyously  as 
from  a fount  of  unexampled  happiness,  sounding  in 
Eugene’s  ears,  after  so  many  emotions,  like  the  words 
of  a dream  : — 

« We  flnished  our  work  this  morning.  We  are  all 
three  to  dine  together, — together,  do  you  understand  ? 
It  is  four  years  since  I last  dined  with  Pelphine, 
my  own  little  Delphine ! I shall  be  there  all  the  eve- 
ning. We  have  been  at  your  rooms  since  the  morning. 
I have  been  working  like  a day-laborer,  coat  off.  I 
helped  to  bring  in  the  furniture.  — Ah ! ah ! you 
don’t  know  how  charming  she  can  be  at  the  head  of  a 
table.  She  will  look  after  me.  She  will  say,  ‘ Come, 
Papa,  eat  some  of  this  — it  is  good ! ’ and  then  I shall 
not  be  able  to  swallow  a mouthful.  Oh  ! it  is  so  long 
since  I have  spent  an  evening  with  her ; but  the  happy 
time  is  coming ! ” 

“Ah!”  cried  Eugene,  “the  world  seems  upside 
down.” 

A “ Upside  down ! ” exclaimed  Pere  Goriot.  “ Why, 
it  never  seemed  to  me  so  right-side-up  before.  I see 

17 


258 


P^re  GorioL 


none  but  happy  faces  in  the  streets  ; everybody  seems 
to  be  shaking  hands;  some  people  are  hugging  each 
other;  men  look  as  gay  as  if  they  were  all  going  to 
dine  with  their  daughters,  and  gobble  down  the  good 
dinner  I heard  her  order  from  the  chef  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais.  But,  bah ! what  matter  ? Sitting  beside  her, 
aloes  would  taste  as  sweet  as  honey.” 

“ Am  I coming  to  life  again  ? ” said  Eugene. 

‘‘  Get  on  faster,  coachman,”  cried  Pere  Goriot,  letting 
down  the  front  glass  of  the  carriage.  Drive  faster ! 
I will  give  you  five  francs  drink-money  if  you  get  me 
there  in  ten  minutes.” 

On  hearing  this  promise,  the  man  dashed  across  Paris 
at  break-neck  speed. 

“ The  fellow  crawls,”  cried  Goriot. 

“ But  where  are  you  taking  me  ? ” asked  Rastignac. 

“ To  your  own  rooms,”  said  Pere  Goriot. 

The  carriage  stopped  in  the  Rue  d’ Artois.  The  old 
man  got  out  first,  and  flung  ten  francs  to  the  coachman 
with  the  prodigality  of  a widower  in  the  first  flush  of 
his  release. 

Come  ! let  us  go  upstairs,”  he  said  to  Rastignac, 
marshalling  him  across  the  courtyard  and  taking  him  to 
an  appartement  on  the  third  floor,  in  the  rear  of  a new 
and  handsome  building.  Pere  Goriot  had  no  need  to 
ring  the  bell.  Therese,  Madame  de  Nucingen’s  wait- 
ing-woman, opened  the  door,  and  Eugene  found  him- 
self in  a charming  bachelor  establishment,  consisting 
of  an  ante-chamber,  a little  salon^  a bed-room,  and  a 
dressing-room  looking  out  upon  a garden.  In  the  little 
salon^  whose  furniture  and  decorations  would  have 
borne  comparison  with  everything  beautiful  and  grace- 


Pere  Qoriot. 


269 


ful  of  its  kind,  he  saw  Delphine  by  the  soft  light  of 
wax-candles,  who  rose  from  a couch  by  the  fire  and, 
laying  the  hand-screen  she  had  been  using  on  the 
chimney-piece,  said  in  a voice  full  of  tenderness,  “ So 
you  had  to  be  sent  for,  — Monsieur,  who  is  so  dull  of 
comprehension  ! ” 

Therese  left  the  room.  Eugene  took  Delphine  in 
his  arms,  and  as  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart  tears  came 
Into  his  eyes.  The  contrast  between  what  he  saw  and 
what  he  had  so  lately  seen  overwhelmed  him,  and  the 
emotions  of  this  strange  day,  when  so  much  had  wea- 
ried his  spirit  and  confused  his  brain,  brought  on  a rush 
of  nervous  agitation. 

“I  knew  all  along  how  he  felt,”  whispered  Pere 
Goriot  to  his  daughter,  while  Eugene  lay  back  upon  a 
sofa  unable  to  say  a word,  or  to  explain  why  this  last 
wave  of  the  magic  wand  had  so  powerfully  affected  him. 

“ Come  and  see  your  rooms,”  said  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen,  after  a pause,  taking  his  hand  and  leading  him 
through  the  pretty  appartement,  where  the  carpets,  the 
furniture,  and  all  the  lesser  decorations  were  of  the 
same  style,  in  miniature,  as  those  of  Delphine’s  own 
rooms. 

“We  will  keep  our  happiness  a secret  from  all 
except  ourselves,”  she  whispered,  smiling. 

“Yes,  but  I must  have  my  share  in  it,”  said  Pdre 
Goriot. 

“ You  know  you  are  included  : ouvselves  means 
you,  too.” 

“ Ah ! that  is  what  I wanted  you  to  say.  You  will 
not  think  me  in  the  way,  will  you  ? I shall  come  and 
go  like  some  good  spirit,  always  at  hand,  though  he 


260 


Pere  Croriot. 


does  not  make  himself  known. — Well,  my  Delphi* 
nette,  Ninette,  Dedel ! was  I not  right  to  tell  you  of 
this  pretty  little  appartement,  and  to  say,  ‘Let  us 
furnish  it  for  him’?  At  first  you  did  not  like  the 
idea.  It  is  I who  planned  all  this  pleasure.  Fathers 
should  give  their  children  everything,  just  as  they 
gave  them  life.  Give  all,  give  ever,  — that  is  a father’s 
motto.” 

“ Have  we  guessed  what  you  like  best  ? ” said  Del- 
phine  to  Eugene  as  they  came  back  into  the  salon. 

“Yes,  he  said,  “only  too  w''ell.  Alas!  the  luxury 
of  these  rooms  is  complete ; my  every  dream  is  real- 
ized. The  poetry  of  such  a life,  so  fresh,  so  elegant,  — 

I feel  it  all ! But  I cannot  accept  it  from  you,  and  I 
am  too  poor  as  yet  — ” 

“ Ah ! would  you  dare  to  cross  me  already  ? ” she 
asked,  with  a mock  air  of  authority,  making  one  of 
those  pretty  grimaces  by  which  women  try  to  laugh 
away  a scruple.  But  Eugene  had  that  day  too  sol-  ! 
emnly  interrogated  his  conscience,  — the  arrest  of  Vau- 
trin,  revealing  the  horrible  abyss  into  which  he  had  so 
nearly  plunged,  — had  too  powerfully  forced  his  mind 
back  to  thoughts  of  duty  and  delicacy,  to  let  him  now 
yield  to  her  caressing  assault  upon  his  scruples.  A 
profound  sadness  came  over  him. 

“ Is  it  possible,”  cried  Madame  de  Nncingen,  “ that 
you  refuse  me  ? Do  you  know  all  that  such  a refusal 
means?  It  means  that  you  doubt  the  future,  that 
you  doubt  me,  or  th.at  you  fe.ar  to  be  false  yourself 
to  my  affection.  If  you  love  me  and  if  I love  you, 
why  do  you  draw  back  and  refuse  such  trifling  obliga- 
tions? If  you  knew  the  pleasure  I have  had  in  pre- 


Pere  Goriot. 


261 


paring  these  rooms  for  you,  you  would  not  hesitate ; 
you  would  beg  my  pardon  for  the  very  thought  of 
pgfugijig  nie.  Besides,  you  must  remember  that  I have 
money  of  yours  • I have  laid  it  out  to  the  best  advan- 
tage,—that  is  all.  You  fancy  that  your  refusal  is  a 
proof  of  highmindedness : it  is  the  contrary.  Oh, 
Papa!  give  him  good  reasons  why  he  should  not  refuse 
us,”  she  exclaimed  after  a pause,  turning  to  her  father. 

“ Does  he  think  I would  be  less  fastidious  than  him- 
self on  a point  of  honor?  ” 

Pere  Goriot  listened  to  this  dispute  with  the  ab- 
sorbed smile  of  an  Oriental  snake-charmer. 

“ Child  that  you  are,  reflect ! ” continued  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  taking  Eugene’s  hand.  “You  stand  on  the 
threshold  of  life ; between  you  and  success  there  lies 
a barrier  insurmountable  for  most  young  men,  the 
barrier  of  poverty,  of  obscurity;  the  hand  of  a woman 
removes  it,  and  you  draw  back!  You  will  succeed; 
you  will  make  a brilliant  future  ; I read  success  upon 
your  brow.  When  this  comes  to  pass,  can  you  not  pay 
back  to  me  what  I lend  you  now?  In  olden  times 
ladies  gave  to  their  knights  armor  and  swords  and 
helmets,  coats  of  mail  and  hoi’ses,  that  they  might 
fight  at  tournaments  and  win  them  honor.  Eugene, 
the  things  I ofier  you  are  the  arms  of  the  nineteenth 
century  ; tools  essential  to  the  man  who  wishes  to  rise 
above  his  fellows.  Ah!”  she  added,  “the  gariet 
where  you  live  must  be  sumptuous,  if  it  is  anything 
like  Papa’s!  Do  you  wish  to  make  me  miserable? 
Answer  ! ” she  said,  slightly  shaking  his  hand.  “ Mon 
Pieu,  Papa ! make  him  accept,  or  I will  go  away  and 
never  let  him  see  me  again.” 


262 


Pere  Goriot. 


‘‘  I can  settle  it,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  coming  out  of 
his  trance.  “My  dear  Monsieur  Eugene,  you  would 
be  glad  no  doubt  to  borrow  money  from  the  Jews, 
would  n’t  you  ? ” 

“ I must,”  he  replied. 

“Very  good;  now,  then,  I have  you,”  said  the  old 
man,  drawing  out  a shabby  leather  pocket-book.  “ I 
am  your  Jew.  I have  paid  all  the  bills,  and  here  they 
are.  Not  a sou  is  owing  for  anything  in  this  apparte- 
merit.  The  furniture  did  not  cost  a great  deal,  — at 
most  five  thousand  francs.  I lend  you  that  sum.  You 
won’t  refuse  me  ; I am  not  a woman.  You  can  write 
me  an  acknowledgment  upon  a scraj)  of  paper,  and 
repay  me  some  of  these  days.” 

Delphine  and  Eugene  looked  at  each  other  in  aston- 
ishment, and  tears  filled  their  eyes.  The  student  took 
the  hand  of  the  old  man  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

“ Why,  you  need  not  think  so  much  of  it ; are  you 
not  both  my  children  ? ” said  Goriot. 

“ But,  my  poor  Father,  how  did  you  manage  it  ? ” said 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

“ Ah  ! now  you  want  me  to  tell  you  all,”  he  an- 
swered. “Well,  after  I had  persuaded  you  to  let 
him  live  here,  and  I saw  you  buying  things  fit  for  a 
bride,  I said,  ‘ She  will  find  herself  in  trouble  about 
the  money.’  My  lawyer  tells  me  the  suit  against  your 
husband  cannot  be  settled  for  six  months.  It  can 
wait.  I have  sold  out  my  securities,  that  brought  me 
in  thirteen  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a year.  With 
fifteen  thousand  francs  of  the  capital  I have  bought 
an  annuity  of  twelve  hundred  francs,  and  I have  paid 
these  bills  with  the  remainder,  my  children.  1 have  a 


Pere  Croriot. 


2(5 


edroora  here  which  will  cost  only  a hundred  and 
fty  francs  a year,  and  I can  live  like  a prince  on  forty 
ms  a day  and  have  something  left  over.  I hardly 
ver  wear  out  my  clothes,  and  I shall  never  need  any 
ew  ones.  For  a fortnight  past  I have  been  laughing 
1 my  sleeve,  saying  to  myself,  ‘ How  happy  we  shall 
e ! ’ Was  I not  right  ? — are  you  not  happy  ? ” 

“Oh,  Papa,  Papa!”  cried. Madame  de  Nucingen, 
cringing  into  the  arms  of  her  father,  who  placed  her 
jnderly  on  his  knee.  She  covered  him  with  kisses ; 
er  blonde  hair  touched  his  cheeks  as  she  shed  tears 
pon  the  aged  face  all  glowing  now  with  happiness. 
Dear  Father,  — you  are  indeed  a father.  No  ! there 
j not  another  father  in  the  world  like  you.  Eugene! 
ou  loved  him  before,  but  you  will  love  him  better 
ow.” 

“Why,  my  children,”  said  PMe  Goriot,  who  for 
ix  years  had  not  felt  a daughter’s  heart  against  his 
losom  ; “ my  Deljchinette,  do  you  want  to  kill  me 
vith  joy  ? My  poor  heart  cannot  bear  it.  Ah ! Eu- 
gene, the  debt  is  repaid  already  ! ” 

And  the  old  man  pressed  his  daughter  to  his  heart 
vith  an  embrace  so  frantic  that  she  cried  out,  “ Oh ! 
.'OU  hurt  me.” 

“ Hurt  you  ! ” he  said,  turning  pale.  He  looked  at 
ler  with  an  expression  of  anguish.  “ No,  no ! I could 
lot  hurt  you,”  gently  kissing  the  waist  his  arm  had 
iressed  too  roughly.  “ It  was  you  who  hurt  me  by 
hat  cry  of  pain.  — The  furniture  cost  more  than  I 
;old  him,”  he  whispered  in  her  ear ; “ but  we  must 
leceive  him  a little,  or  we  shall  not  be  able  to  manage 
lira.” 


264 


Pere  Goriot, 


Eugene,  amazed  at  the  inexhaustible  self-devotio 
of  Pere  Goriot,  gazed  at  him  with  a naive  admiratio 
which  in  the  young  expresses  implicit  faith. 

I will  make  myself  worthy  of  such  goodness ! 
he  exclaimed. 

“ Oh,  my  Eugene,  those  words  are  noble  ! ” and 
dame  de  Nucingen  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

‘‘  For  thy  sake  he  refused  Mademoiselle  Taillefe 
and  her  millions,”  said  Pere  Goriot.  ‘‘Yes,  the  littl 
girl  was  fond  of  him ; her  brother  is  dead,  and  she  i 
as  rich  as  Croesus.” 

“ Do  not  say  that ! ” cried  Rastignac. 

“ Eugene,”  whispered  Madame  de  Nucingen.  “ 
have  now  a regret  to  mar  my  happiness ; but  I wi 
love  you  the  better  for  it  — and  forever.” 

“ This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life  since  your  mar 
riages,”  cried  Pere  Goriot.  “I  am  willing  to  suffe 
all  that  it  may  please  God  to  send  me,  so  long  as  i 
does  not  come  through  ray  children.  As  long  as  I liv 
I shall  say  to  myself,  ‘ In  February,  1820,  there  was  ; 
day  when  I was  happier  than  other  men  are  in  a life 
time ! ’ Look  at  me,  Fifine,”  he  said  to  his  daughter 
“ Ah ! is  she  not  lovely  ? Tell  me,  where  can  yoi 
find  another  little  woman  with  such  a skin,  and  sue! 
pretty  dimples?  She  is  mine,  — I made  her,  the  little 
darling ! Ah ! my  friend,  be  good  to  her,  make  he: 
happy,  and  I will  reward  you.  If  there  were  but  om 
chance  to  go  to  heaven  and  I had  got  it,  I would  give 
it  to  you.  But,  come  ! let  us  dine,  — let  ns  dine,”  he 
said,  as  if  beside  himself.  “All  is  ours.” 

“ Poor  Father ! ” 

“ Ah ! my  child,”  he  added,  taking  her  head  betweer 


Fere  Goriot. 


265 


is  hands,  and  kissing  her  hair ; you  make  my  heaven 
ere.  Come  and  see  me  often;  my  room  is  close  by; 
ou  have  not  far  to  go.  Come  often ; promise  me,  — 
a,y  that  you  promise  it.” 

‘‘  Yes,  dear  Father.” 

‘‘  Say  it  again.” 

‘‘Yes,  my  good  Father.” 

“Hush,  now!  for  I should  make  you  say  it  a hun- 
'red  times  if  I thought  of  myself  only.  Let  us  dine.” 

The  evening  was  spent  in  tender  child’s  play  such 
s this,  Fere  Coriot  not  the  least  childish  of  the 
hree.  He  sat  at  his  daughter’s  feet  and  kissed  them  ; 
le  gazed  into  her  eyes  ; he  laid  his  head  upon  her  dress, 
le  was  guilty  of  a thousand  follies,  like  a lovei  with 
lis  first  love. 

“You  see  now,”  whispered  Delphine  to  Eugene, 

• that  when  my  father  is  here  he  exacts  all  my  atten- 
ion.  It  will  often  be  very  troublesome.” 

Eugene,  who  had  already  felt  some  twinges  of  jeal- 
)usy,  could  not  exactly  blame  this  speech,  although  it 
)reathed  the  quintessence  of  ingratitude. 

“ When  will  the  appartement  be  finished?  ” he  asked, 
'ooking  round  him.  “ Must  we  leave  it  to-night  ? ” 

' “ Yes ; but  to-morrow  you  dine  with  me : it  is  the 
)pera  night,  you  remember.” 

' “ I shall  go  and  sit  in  the  pit,”  said  Pere  Goriot. 

It  was  now  midnight  ; Madame  de  Nucingen’s  car- 
riage was  waiting.  Pere  Goriot  and  Eugene  walked 
back  to  the  Maison  Vauquer,  talking  of  Delphine  on 
the  way  with  an  enthusiasm  that  revealed  a curious 
contrast  of  expression  in  the  two  individual  passions 


266 


Pere  Groriot. 


Eugene  could  rxOt  conceal  from  himself  that  the  father’ 
love,  stained  by  no  selfish  interest,  crushed  his  out  o 
sight  by  its  vehemence  and  grandeur.  To  the  fathe 
the  idol  was  all  purity  and  goodness,  and  his  adora 
tion  was  nourished  as  much  by  recollections  of  th( 
past  as  by  his  visions  of  the  future. 

V They  found  Madame  Vauquer  sitting  over  the  stov< 
with  Christophe  and  Sylvie  on  either  side  of  her,  lik< 
Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage.  She  was  wait 
ing  for  the  two  who  were  to-night  her  sole  lodgers,  an( 
bemoaning  herself  to  Sylvie.  Though  Lord  Byroi 
puts  very  beautiful  lamentations  into  the  mouth  o; 
Tasso,  they  have  not  the  ring  of  truth  which  vibratec 
in  those  now  proceeding  from  the  lips  of  the  unfortu. 
nate  landlady. 

Only  three  cups  of  coffee  to  make  to-morrow. 
Sylvie  ! Is  not  my  empty  house  enough  to  break  m} 
heart  ? Alas ! what  will  life  be  to  me  without  my 
lodgers?  Nothing.  My  house  is  desolate,  deserted 
by  its  men.  They  were  its  furniture.  What  is  life 
without  furniture?  What  have  I done  that  Heaven 
should  send  me  these  misfortunes?  We  laid  in  pota- 
toes and  beans,  — yes,  beans  enough  for  twenty  people 
The  police  in  my  house  ! — Must  we  eat  nothing  bul 
potatoes?  I shall  send  Christophe  away.” 

The  Savoyard,  who  was  asleep,  woke  up  on  hearing 
his  name  and  said,  ‘‘  Madame  ? ” 

‘‘Poor  fellow!  he  is  as  faithful  as  a dog,”  said 
Sylvie. 

“ A lost  season  ! People  are  housed.  Can  lodgers 
drop  from  heaven  ? I shall  lose  my  senses.  And  that 
witch  of  a Michonneau,  to  have  carried  oflT  Poiret  J 


P^re  Ooriot. 


267 


How  did  slie  get  such  a grip  on  the  man  ? He  fol- 
lows her  about  like  acpuppy-dog.” 

“Bah!”  said  Sylvie,  shaking  her  head.  “Those 
Did  maids!  they  know  the  tricks  of  things.” 

“That  poor  Monsieur  Vautrin,  whom  they  turned 
into  a convict!  ” resumed  the  widow.  “Well,  Sylvie, 
it  is  too  much  for  me ; I can’t  believe  it  yet.  A man 
as  gay  as  he,  who  drank  his  gloria  at  fifteen  francs  a 
month,  and  paid  on  the  nail ! ” 

“ And  who  was  generous,  too,”  remarked  Christophe. 

“ There ’s  some  mistake,”  said  Sylvie. 

“ No,  there  can’t  be.  He  owned  it  himself,”  said 
Madame  Vauquer.  “ And  to  think  that  all  these  things 
happened  here  in  this  neighborhood,  where  even  the 
cats  don’t  come  ! I must  be  dreaming,  it  can’t  be  pos- 
sible ! We  saw  Louis  XVI.  meet  with  his  accident ; 
we  saw  the  fall  of  the  Emperor ; we  saw  him  come 
back  and  fall  again,  — all  that  belonged  to  the  order 
of  possible  things.  But  there  are  no  such  hap-hazards 
about  pensions.  People  can  get  along  without  a king, 
but  they  must  have  breakfast  and  dinner ; and  when 
an  honest  woman,  nee  de  Conflans,  gives  dinners,  with 
all  sorts  of  good  things,  unless  the  very  end  of  the 
world  should  come  — but  that’s  what  it  is ; it  is  the 
end  of  the  world ! ” 

“ And  to  think  that  that  Michonneau,  who  has  done 
all  the  mischief,  is  to  receive,  they  say,  three  thousand 
francs  a year ! ” cried  Sylvie. 

“ Don’t  mention  her  to  me ! she  is  a wicked  woman,” 
cried  Madame  Yauquer ; “and  she  has  gone  off  to 
Buneaud’s;  she  is  capable  of  anything.  She  must 
have  done  horrible  things  in  her  lifetime,  — robbed, 


268 


Pere  Goriot, 


murdered,  no  doubt.  She  ought  to  have  gone  to  the 
galleys,  instead  of  that  poor,  dear  man  — ” 

At  this  moment  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  rang  the 
bell. 

“ Ah ! there  are  my  two  faithful  ones,”  said  the 
widow,  with  a sigh. 

The  faithful  pair,  who  at  that  moment  had  but 
slight  remembrance  of  the  disasters  of  the  pension^ 
unceremoniously  announced  to  their  landlady  that  they 
were  to  leave  her  on  the  following  day  and  take  up 
their  quarters  in  the  Chaussee  d’Antin. 

Sylvie!”  cried  the  widow.  ‘‘My  last  trump  is 
gone  ! Gentlemen,  you  have  given  me  my  death-blow. 
It  has  pierced  to  my  vitals,  — I feel  it  there.  This  day 
has  laid  the  weight  of  years  upon  my  head.  I shall 
go  mad,  — upon  my  word,  I shall ! What  can  be 
done  with  the  beans  ? I am  left  desolate.  You  shall 
go  to-morrow,  Christophe.  Good  night,  gentlemen,  — 
good  night.” 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  her  ? ” said  Eugene  to 
Sylvie. 

“Oh,  Lord!  everybody  has  left  the  house  because 
of  what  happened  this  morning.  It  has  upset  her 
head.  There ! I hear  her  crying ; it  will  do  her 
good  to  blubber  a bit.  This  is  the  first  time  I Ve 
known  her  to  wet  her  eyes  since  I have  lived  with 
her.” 

The  next  morning  Madame  Vauquer  detail  rai- 
sonnee,  as  she  expressed  it,  — that  is,  she  had  come  to 
her  senses  ; and  though  afflicted  as  a woman  might 
well  be  who  had  lost  all  her  lodgers,  and  whose  life 
was  suddenly  turne(J  topsy-turvy,  she  had  her  wits 


Pere  Goriot. 


269 


)out  her,  and  displayed  no  more  than  a reasonable 
:ief  caused  by  such  sudden  disasters.  The  glances 
lat  a lover  casts  upon  the  sacred  places  of  a lost  mis- 
ess  were  not  less  moving  than  those  with  which  she 
3w  looked  round  her  deserted  table.  Eugene  tried 
> comfort  her  with  the  idea  that  Bianchon,  whose 
srm  at  the  hospital  was  to  end  in  a few  days,  might 
ep  into  his  vacant  room ; and  told  her  that  the  em- 
ioye  at  the  Museurn  had  frequently  been  heard  to 
ish  for  the  appartement  of  Madame  Couture ; and 
lat  no  doubt  in  a few  days  the  house  would  be  full 
^ain. 

Heaven  grant  it,  my  dear  Monsieur  Eugene  ! But 
lisfortune  has  come  to  my  roof:  before  ten  days  are 
3ne,  death  will  be  here.  You  will  see,”  she  added, 
isting  a lugubrious  glance  around  the  dining-room. 
Which  of  us  will  he  summon?” 

‘‘If  that  is  the  case,  we  had  better  be  off,”  whis- 
ered  Eugene  to  Pere  Goriot. 

“ Madame  ! ” cried  Sylvie,  bursting  in  excitedly.  “ I 
ave  not  seen  Mistigris  for  three  days ! ” 

“ Ah ! if  my  cat  is  dead  ; if  he  too  has  left  me, 
?? 

The  poor  woman  could  not  finish  her  sentence.  She 
asped  her  hands  and  threw  herself  back  in  her  arm- 
aair,  overwhelmed  by  this  ominous  loss. 

Toward  noon,  the  time  of  day  when  postmen  make 
leir  rounds  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Pantheon, 
lugene  received  a letter  in  an  elegant  envelope,  sealed 
ith  the  arms  of  Beauseant.  It  inclosed  an  invitation 
idressed  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Nucingen,  for 


270 


Pere  Goriot, 


a ball  about  to  be  given  by  the  viscountess,  whicl 
had  been  announced  for  some  weeks.  A little  note  t< 
Eugene  accompanied  the  invitation  : — 


I think,  Monsieur,  that  you  will  undertake  with  pleasure  t( 
interpret  iny  sentiments  to  Madame  de  Nucingen.  I send  yoi 
the  invitation  you  asked  of  me,  and  shall  be  delighted  t< 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  sister  of  Madame  de  Restaud 
Come  to  my  hall,  and  bring  that  charming  lady  with  you 
hut  do  not  let  her  absorb  all  your  affection.  You  owe  me  i 
little,  in  return  for  that  which  I feel  for  you. 


Yicomtesse  de  Beaus:i^ant 


“Well,”  said  Eugene,  reading  this  note  for  the  sec 
ond  time,  “ Madame  de  Beauseant  tells  me  plainly  thai 
she  does  not  wish  to  see  the  Baron  de  Nucingen.” 

He  went  at  once  to  Delphine’s,  delighted  that  h( 
had  it  in  his  power  to  bestow  a pleasure  of  wliich  nc 
doubt  he  would  reap  the  reward.  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen was  in  her  bath ; and  Rastignac  waited  for  hei 
with  the  eager  impatience  of  his  years,  and  in  tin 
grasp  of  emotions  which  are  given  but  once  to  the 
lives  of  young  people.  The  first  woman  to  whom  t 
man  attaches  himself,  if  she  appears  to  him  in  all  the 
splendors  of  Parisian  life,  need  fear  no  rival.  Love 
in  Paris  is  not  the  love  of  other  regions.  Neithei 
men  nor  women  are  there  duped  by  the  time-worn 
ideas  which  all  display  like  banners,  for  the  sake  of  de- 
cency, over  affections  calling  themselves  disinterested 
In  Paris,  a woman  seeks  to  be  loved  not  only  for  her 
charms,  but  for  all  the  satisfactions  she  can  give  to  the 
social  ambitions  of  her  lover ; she  knows  that  she  must 
gratify  the  thousand  vanities  which  make  up  life  in 


Pere  Groriot, 


271 


he  great  world.  In  that  world,  Love  is  braggart, 
pendthrift,  gayly  deceitful,  and  ostentatious.  If  the 
iTomen  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  envied  Mademoi- 
|elle  de  la  Valliere  the  ardor  which  caused  that  mighty 
|*rince  to  forget  the  fabulous  cost  of  the  ruffles  which 
Jie  tore  in  facilitating  the  entrance  of  the  Due  de  Ver- 
iaandois  into  the  world,  what  can  be  expected  of  a 
lesser  humanity  ? Be  young  and  rich  and  titled,  ye 
Parisian  lovers!  Be  something  better,  if  you  can. 
The  more  incense  you  burn  before  your  idol,  if  idol 
'ou  have,  the  more  that  deity  will  bend  a favorable 
ar.  Love  is  here  an  idolatry,  — his  rites  more  costly 
ar  than  those  of  any  other  worship;  he  flits  and  van- 
shes  like  an  imp,  delighting  to  leave  his  path  marked 
>ut  by  havoc.  True  passion  is  the  poetry  of  garrets  ; 
without  it,  could  the  vestal  flame  of  love  be  kept 
live  ? Exceptions  to  the  laws  of  this  Draconian  code 
>i  Paris  may  be  found  in  oases  of  that  wilderness, — 
n hearts  not  led  astray  by  social  theories,  that  dwell 
etired  near  some  fount  of  purity,  some  ever-bubbling 
pring  of  living  waters,  where,  faithful  to  these  quiet 
hades,  they  listen  to  the  teachings  of  the  Infinite 
vritten  for  their  learning  on  all  things,  even  their  own 
learts,  patiently  waiting  to  rise  on  wings  of  angels, 
ind  compassionating  the  earth-bound  tendencies  of 
he  world  about  them. 

Rastignac,  like  other  young  men  who  begin  life 
imong  the  traditions  of  rank,  expected  to  enter  the 
ists  fully  equipped.  He  had  caught  the  fever  of  the 
vorld  and.  thought  himself  able  to  master  it,  without 
n truth  understanding  the  means  or  the  ends  of  his 
imbition.  When  the  heart  finds  no  pure  and  sacred 


272 


Pere  Groriot. 


love  to  fill  its  cup  of  life,  a draught  of  mere  succes 
may  have  its  value  ; nay,  the  thirst  for  power  is  glori 
ous  when,  stripped  of  personal  ambition,  it  takes  th( 
form  of  patriotism,  ^^ut  Rastignac  had  by  no  mean^ 
reached  the  heights  whence  men  may  contemplate  th( 
course  of  life  and  form  a judgment  on  it.  As  yet  h^ 
had  not  wholly  shaken  off  those  fresh  sweet  theories 
and  dreams  which  enfold  young  people  brought  up  ir 
country  solitudes,  as  the  green  calyx  does  the  bud.  Up 
to  this  time  he  had  hesitated  to  cross  the  Parisian  rubi- 
con  .\"In  spite  of  his  ardent  curiosity,  he  clung  to  the 
traditions  of  the  noble  life  led  by  men  of  breeding  in 
their  ancient  manors.  Nevertheless,  his  last  scruples 
vanished  the  night  before,  as  he  stood  in  his  new  rooms 
in  the  Rue  d’ Artois.  There,  coming  into  possession 
of  the  material  advantages  of  wealth,  in  addition  to  his 
natural  advantages  of  rank  and  family,  he  stripped  off 
the  skin  of  a country  gentleman  and  slid  with  ease  into 
the  new  circumstances  which  his  ambition  told  him 
would  lead  to  fortune.  As  he  waited  for  Delphine, 
luxuriously  seated  in  her  pretty  boudoir,  he  seemed  so 
far  removed  from  the  Rastignac  of  the  year  before,  that 
as  he  looked  at  himself  with  the  moral  optics  of  his 
own  mind  he  wondered  if  he  were  indeed  the  same. 

Madame  will  see  you,”  said  Therese,  whose  voice 
^startled  him. 

He  found  Delphine  on  a couch  beside  the  fire,  fresh 
and  restful.  As  she  lay  back  in  her  muslin  draperies, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  compare  her  to  one  of  those 
oriental  plants  whose  fruit  comes  with  the  flower. 

At  last  we  are  together,”  she  said  with  some 
emotion. 


Pere  Groriot. 


273 


if  ‘‘Guess  what  I bring  you,”  said  Eugene,  sitting 
down  beside  her  and  lifting  her  arm  that  he  might 
kiss  her  hand. 

Madame  de  Nucingen  made  a gesture  of  delight  as 
ishe  read  the  invitation;  and  turning  to  Eugene  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  drew  him  down  to  her  in  a delirium  of  gratified 
vanity. 

“And  it  is  you  to  whom  I owe  this  happiness!” 
she  said.  “ Obtained  by  you,  it  is  more  than  a triumph 
of  self-love.  No  one  has  ever  been  willing  till  now  to 
introduce  me  into  that  charmed  circle.  Perhaps  you 
think  me  at  this  moment  as  frivolous  and  light-minded 
as  any  other  Parisian  ; but  remember,  my  friend,  I am 
yours,  and  if  I wish  more  than  ever  to  enter  the 
society  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  it  is  because 
that  society  is  yours.” 

“Do  you  not  think,”  said  Engene,  ‘Hhat  Madame 
de  Beauseant  intimates  pretty  plainly  that  she  does 
not  wish  to  see  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  at  her  ball?” 

“Yes,  I do,”  said  Delphine,  returning  the  note  to 
Eugene  ; “ those  great  ladies  have  a genius  for  imper- 
tinence. But  no  matter ; I shall  go.  My  sister  is  to 
be  there.  I know  she  has  ordered  a bewitching  dress 
for  the  occasion.  Eugene,”  she  resumed,  in  a low 
voice,  “ she  wants  to  appear  at  that  ball  in  all  her 
glory,  that  she  may  give  the  lie  to  dreadful  rumors. 
You  don’t  know  what  things  are  said  about  her.  Nu- 
cingen told  me  this  morning  that  they  talked  of  her  at 
the  club,  and  handled  her  without  mercy.  Ah,  mon 
Dieu!  upon  how  slight  a thread  hangs  the  honor  of  a 
woman ! — and  her  family  as  well,  for  I feel  myself 

18 


274 


Pere  Goriot, 


involved  in  these  attacks  upon  my  poor  sister.  They 
say  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles  has  given  notes  to  the 
amount  of  a hundred  thousand  francs  ; that  these  have 
gone  to  protest,  and  that  he  has  even  been  in  danger 
of  arrest,  yin  this  extremity,  so  they  say,  my  sister 
has  sold  her  diamonds  to  a Jew,  — those  beautiful  dia- 
monds which  you  have  seen  her  wear,  heir-looms  be- 
longing to  the  Restaud  family.  I am  told  that  for  two 
days  nothing  else  has  been  talked  of.  I understand 
now  why  Anastasie  has  ordered  a dress  of  gold  tissue  : 
she  means  to  attract  all  eyes  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s 
by  appearing  in  a superb  toilette^  and  wearing  the  dia- 
monds. But  she  shall  not  outshine  me  ! She  has  al- 
ways tried  to  crash  me  ; she  was  never  kind  to  me, 
though  I have  done  much  for  her,  — I have  even  lent 
her  money  when  she  was  in  trouble.  But  do  not  let 
us  talk  about  her  now.  To-day  I wish  to  think  of 
nothing  but  happiness.” 

. / Rastignac  did  not  leave  Madame  de  Nucingen  till  an 
•hour  after  midnight.  As  she  bade  him  a lover’s  fare- 
well, full  of  joys  to  come,  she  said,  with  an  expression 
of  melancholy,  ‘‘  I am  timid,  superstitious ! Call  my 
presentiments  foolish  if  you  will,  but  I feel  as  if  some 
terrible  catastrophe  were  hanging  over  me.” 

Child  ! ” said  Eugene. 

‘‘Ah!  it  is  I who  am  the  child  to-night,”  she  an- 
swered laughing. 

Rastignac  returned  to  the  Maison  Vauquer,  as  he  be- 
lieved, for  the  last  time ; certain  of  quitting  it  forever 
the  next  day.  As  he  walked  along  he  surrendered 
himself  to  happy  dreams,  as  young  men  will  who  taste 
upon  their  lips  the  draught  of  joy. 


Pete  Groriot. 


275 


“Well?”  said  Pk-e  Goriot,  as  Rastignac  passed  his 

“ Good  night,”  answered  Eugene  ; “ I will  tell  you  all 
to-morrow.” 

“ Ah,  to-morrow ! ” cried  the  old  man.  “ Go  to  bed 
now,  aW  good  vdght.-  To-morrow  our  happy  life 
begins  r’ 


The  next  morning  Goriot  and  Rastignac.were  wait« 
iiig  for  the  porters  to  remove  their  effects  to  the  Rue 
d’Artois,  when,  about  noon,  the  noise  of  an  equipage 
stopping  before  the  Maison  Vauquer  echoed  up  the 
Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve.  Madame  de  Nucingen 
got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  learning  from  Sylvie  that 
her  father  was  still  there,  ran  lightly  up  to  his  room. 
Eugene  was  in  his  own  chamber,  but  his  neighbor  did 
not  know  he  was  there.XAt  breakfast  he  had  asked 
Pere  Goriot  to  attend  to  the  removal  of  his  luggage, 
promising  to  rejoin  him  at  four  o’clock  in  the  Rue 
d’Artois.  But  while  the  old  man  was  out  of  the  house 
searching  for  porters,  Eugene,  after  answering  to  his 
name  at  the  law-school,  returned  to  settle  his  account 
with  Madame  Vauquer,  not  wishing  to  leave  the  bill 
with  Goriot,  lest  the  old  man  in  his  enthusiasm  might 
insist  on  paying  it  for  him.  The  landlady  was  out, 
and  Eugene  ran  upstairs  to  make  sure  that  nothing  had 
been  left  behind;  congratulating  himself  for  his  pre- 
caution when  he  found  in  a table-drawer  the  accept- 
ance given  to  Vautrin,  which  he  had  carelessly  flung 
aside  at  the  time  when  he  paid  the  debt.  Not  having 
any  Are,  he  was  about  to  tear  it  into  little  pieces,  when 
his  hand  was  arrested  in  the  act  by  hearing  the  voice 
of  Delphine  in  Pere  Goriot’s  chamber.  He  stopped 


Pere  Goriot. 


277 


liort  to  listen  to  what  she  was  saying,  confident  that 
he  could  have  no  secrets  from  him.  Then,  after  her 
irst  words,  he  found  the  conversation  between  father 
ind  daughter  too  deeply  interesting  to  resist  the  temp- 
;ation  of  hearing  more. 

>(«  Ah,  my  Father,”  Delphine  cried,  “ would  to  heaven 
pu  had  interfered  about  my  fortune  in  time  to  save 

ne  from  ruin  ! Can  I speak  freely  ? 

“Yes,  the  house  is  empty,”  said  Pere  Goriot  in  a 

strange  tone.  „ „ , i j . 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you.  Father  ? she  asked  j 

'*  are  you  ill  ? ” 

« I feel  as  if  you  had  struck  me  with  an  axe  upon 
my  head.  God  forgive  you,  darling ! you  do  not 
understand  how  much  I love  you,  or  you  would  not 
tell  me  bluntly  such  terrible  things,  — especially  if  the 
case  is  not  desperate.  What  has  happened  ? Why 
are  you  here  now,  when  in  half  an  hour  we  should  have 

been  in  the  Rue  d’ Artois? 

Ah,  Father,  how  could  I think  of  that  when  a 
great  catastrophe  has  befallen  me?  lam  out  of  my 
senses.  Your  lawyer  has  brought  things  to  light 
which  we  must  have  known  sooner  or  later.  Your 
oreat  experience  in  business  is  now  my  only  hope,  and 
I have  rushed  to  you  as  a poor  drowning  creature 
catches  at  a branch.  When  Monsieur  Derville  found 
that  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was  opposing  him  with  all 
sorts  of  evasions  he  threatened  him  with  a law-suit, 
saying  that  an  order  from  the  Court  for  such  a pro- 
ceeding could  easily  be  obtained.  Nuoingen  came  to 
my  room  this  morning  and  asked  me  if  I was  bent  on 
his  ruin  and  mine.  I answered  that  I knew  nothing 


278 


Pere  Groriot. 


about  all  that ; that  I had  my  own  fortune  ; that  I 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  spend  the  income  of  it  as  1 
pleased ; that  all  business  in  connection  with  the  mabr 
ter  w^as  in  the  hands  of  my  lawyer;  and,  finally,  that 
I was  totally  ignorant  on  such  matters,  and  did  not 
wish  to  discuss  them.  That  was  exactly  what  you 
advised  me  to  say,  was  it  not?” 

Yes,  that  was  right,”  said  Pere  Goriot. 

“Well,”  continued  Delphine,  “then  he  told  me 
plainly  about  his  affairs.  He  has  embarked  all  his 
own  money  and  mine  in  speculations  that  have  not  yet 
matured,  in  furtherance  of  which  he  has  sent  great 
sums  of  money  to  other  countries.  If  I force  him  to 
account  for  my  fortune  now,  I shall  oblige  him  to 
show  his  books  and  file  his  schedule ; whereas  if  I 
will  wait  one  year,  he  promises  on  his  honor  to  double 
my  fortune  and  invest  the  whole  — his  and  mine  — in 
landed  property  which  shall  be  settled  on  me.  My 
dear  Father,  he  meant  what  he  said  ; he  frightened  me. 
He  asked  my  pardon  for  his  past  conduct.  He  gave 
me  back  my  liberty ; he  promised  not  to  interfere  wdth 
my  life  in  any  way  provided  I would  agree  to  let  him 
manage  our  affairs  in  my  name.  He  promised,  as  a 
proof  of  his  good  faith,  that  I should  call  in  Monsieur 
Derville  at  any  time  to  examine  the  legality  of  the 
papers  by  which  the  property  was  to  be  made  mine. 
In  short,  he  put  himself  into  my  power,  tied  hand  and 
foot.  He  wishes  for  the  next  two  years  to  keep  the 
expenditure  of  the  household  under  his  control,  and  he 
besought  me  to  spend  no  more  than  my  allowance  dur- 
ing that  period.  He  proved  to  me  that  he  is  doing  all 
he  can  to  save  appearances.  He  has  sent  away  his 


Pere  Ooriot. 


279 


lanseuse,  and  is  going  to  practise  the  most  rigid  though 
juiet  economy,  so  that  he  may  come  safely  out  of  his 
peculations  without  impairing  his  credit.  I answered 
lim  as  unkindly  as  I could.  I appeared  to  doubt  him, 
io  that  by  pushing  him  to  extremities  I might  force 
lim  to  tell  me  everything.  He  showed  me  his  books  ; 
ind  at  last  he  burst  into  tears.  I have  never  seen  a 
nan  in  such  a state.  He  lost  his  head  ; he  talked  of 
billing  himself ; he  was  out  of  his  mind.  I felt  for 
ijm.” 

M And  you  believed  him  ?”  cried  Pere  Go  riot.  He 
ivas  playing  a part.  They  were  lies.  I know  what 
arermans  are  in  business.  They  seem  honest  and  open 
enough  ; but  under  that  air  of  frankness  they  are 
ehrewd  and  cunning,  and  worse  to  deal  with  than  any 
others.  Your  husband  is  imposing  on  you.  He  finds 
bimself  close-pressed,  and  feigns  death.  He  wants  to 
be  more  completely  master  of  your  fortune  under  your 
|[iame  than  he  could  be  under  his  own.  He  will  make 
ase  of  you  to  save  himself  in  the  event  of  business 
losses.  He  is  as  cunning  as  he  is  false.  He  is  a bad 
fellow.  No,  no!  I will  not  go  to  my  grave  leaving 
my  daughters  stripped  of  everything.  I know  a little 
about  business  still.  He  says  he  has  embarked  all  his 
capital  in  speculations.  Well,  then,  his  interest  in 
these  speculations  must  be  represented  by  stocks  or 
some  kind  of  securities.  Let  him  produce  them,  and 
allow  you  to  take  your  share.  W e will  choose  the  safest, 
and  run  our  chance.  We  will  have  all  the  papers  reg- 
istered under  the  name  of  Delphine  Goriot^  wife^  sepa- 
rated as  to  property  from  the  Baron  de  Nucingen, 
Does  he  take  us  for  fools?  Does  he  suppose  I would 


280 


Pere  Groriot. 


patiently  permit  him,  were  it  only  for  a day,  to  leave 
you  without  fortune?  Never!  not  for  a day,  nor  a 
night,  — no,  not  for  two  hours!  If  such  a thing  should 
come  to  pass  I could  not  survive  it.  What ! have  I 
worked  for  forty  years  ; have  I carried  sacks  of  flour 
on  my  back  and  toiled  in  the  sweat  of  my  brow ; have 
I pinched  and  denied  myself  all  the  days  of  my  life 
for  you,  my  angels,  — who  repaid  my  toil  and  lightened 
my  burden, — that  to-day  my  fortune  and  my  life 
should  pass  away  in  smoke?  I should  die  raving 
mad ! By  all  that  is  sacred  in  heaven  and  earth  we 
will  drag  this  matter  to  the  light ; we  will  examine 
into  his  books,  his  coffers,  his  speculations.  I will  not 
sleep ; I will  not  lie  down  upon  my  bed  ; I will  not 
eat,  until  I find  out  if  your  fortune  is  all  there. 
Thank  God  ! you  are  at  least  separated  as  to  property. 
Yon  shall  have  Monsieur  Derville  for  your  lawyer;  he 
is  an  honest  man.  Heavens  and  earth ! you  shall 
have  your  poor  little  million  to  yourself,  — you  shall 
have  your  fifty  thousand  francs  income  to  spend  as  you 
please  to  the  end  of  your  days,  — or  I will  make  such  a 
stir  in  Paris  — Ha ! ha  ! I will  appeal  to  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies,  if  the  law  courts  will  not  right  us. 
If  I can  see  you  happy  and  at  ease  about  money  I 
shall  forget  my  own  sorrows.  Our  money  is  our  life  ; 
money  does  everything.  What  does  that  big  log  of 
an  Alsatian  mean  ? Delphine,  don’t  yield  a farth- 
ing to  that  brute,  who  has  held  you  in  bondage  and 
made  you  miserable.  If  he  needs  your  help,  he  shall 
not  have  it  unless  we  can  tie  hini  tight  and  make  liim 
march  a straight  line.  Jtfon  Dieu  ! my  whole  head  is 
on  fire  ; there  are  flames  in  my  skull.  Think  of  my 


Pere  Gioriot. 


281 


Delphine  being  brought  to  want ! Oh,  my  Fifine,  if 
bat  should  happen  to  thee ! — Sapristi ! where  is  my 
lat?  Come,  I must  go  directly.  I shall  insist  on 
ooking  into  everything,  — his  books,  his  business,  his 
correspondence.  We  will  go  this  moment.  I cannot 
3e  calm  until  it  is  proved  that  your  fortune  is  secure 
beyond  all  risks,  and  I have  seen  it  with  my  own 

.vLi” 

“ My  clear  Father,  you  must  set  about  it  cautiously, 
[f  you  put  the  slightest  desire  for  vengeance  into  this 
iffair,  if  you  even  show  hostile  feeling  to  my  husband, 
jrou  will  ruin  me.  He  knows  you ; he  thinks  it  nat- 
ural that  influenced  by  you  I should  be  anxious  about 
[ny  fortune  j but  I swear  to  you,  he  has  it  in  his  power, 
md  he  means  to  keep  it  there.  He  is  capable  of  run- 
ning away  with  it,  and  leaving  me  without  a sou.  He 
knows  I would  not  dishonor  the  name  I bear  by  bring- 
ing him  to  justice.  His  position  is  both  strong  and 
weak.  Indeed,  I have  examined  into  it  all.  If  you 
push  him  to  extremities,  I am  lost.” 

“ Is  he  dishonest  ? Is  he  a rogue  ? ” 

“Yes,  Father,  he  is,”  she  cried,  throwing  herself 
into  a chair  and  bursting  into  tears.  “ I did  not  mean 
to  acknowledge  it,  I wished  to  spai’e  you  the  pain 
of  knowing  that  you  had  married  me  to  such  a man. 
Vices  and  conscience,  body  and  soul,  — all  are  in  keep- 
ittg.  It  is  terrible.  I hate  him,  and  yet  I despise  him. 
A man  capable  of  flinging  himself  into  such  transac- 
tions as  he  has  confessed  to  me,  without  shame  or 
remorse,  fills  me  with  disgust.  My  fears  spring  from 
what  I know  of  him.  He  offered  me  — he,  my  hus* 
band ! — my  full  liberty  (and  you  know  what  he  meant), 


282 


Pere  Croriot. 


if  I would  play  into  his  hands  ; if  I would  lend  inj 
name  to  dishonorable  transactions,  under  .cover  o1 
which  he  can  escape  if  he  meets  with  losses.” 

‘‘  But  there  are  laws ! There  is  the  guillotine  foi 
such  men,”  exclaimed  Pere  Goriot. 

No,  Father,  there  are  no  laws  that  can  reach  him. 
Listen  to  what  he  told  me.  This  is  the  substance 
of  it,  stripped  of  his  circumlocutions : ‘ Either  all  will 
be  lost,  and  you  will  not  have  a farthing, — you  will 
be  ruined  ; for  I can  take  no  one  into  partnership  but 
yourself,  — or  you  must  let  me  carry  out  my  specula- 
tions as  they  now  stand,  to  the  end.’  Is  that  plain 
speaking  ? He  still  trusts  me.  He  knows  that  I shall 
not  touch  his  fortune,  and  shall  be  satisfied  with  my 
own.  It  has  come  to  this,  — either  I must  enter  into 
a repulsive  and  dishonest  partnership,  or  I am  ruined. 
He  buys  my  complicity  in  his  crimes  by  giving  me  the 
liberty  to  live  as  I please.  He  says,  ‘ I will  take  no 
notice  of  your  faults,  if  you  will  not  prevent  my  plot- 
ting the  ruin  of  poor  people.’  Is  that  clear?  Do  you 
know  what  he  means  by  ^ speculations  ’ ? He  buys  un- 
improved land  in  his  own  name,  and  puts  forward  men 
of  straw  to  build  houses  on  the  land.  These  men  con- 
tract with  builders  on  an  agreement  for  long  credits ; 
and  afterwards,  for  a nominal  sum,  they  make  over 
the  buildings  to  my  husband.  They  then  go  into  sham 
bankruptcy,  and  the  contractors  lose  everything.  The 
name  of  Nucingen  & Co.  serves  as  a decoy.  I under- 
stand now  how  it  is  that  to  prove  the  payment  of 
money,  should  inquiry  be  aroused,  he  has  sent  away 
enormous  sums  to  Amsterdam,  London,  Naples,  and 
Vienna.  How  could  we  get  hold  of  those  sums  ? ” 


Pere  Q-oriot. 


283 


Eugene  heard  the  dull  sound  of  Pere  Goriot’s  knees 
‘ailing  on  the  tiled  floor  of  his  chamber. 

“ Good  God ! What  have  I done  ? he  cried.  ‘‘  I 
lave  delivered  my  daughter  over  to  this  man  ! He 
vill  strip  her  of  everything!  Oh,  forgive  me,  my 
DOor  girl ! ” 

“True.  If  I am  now  in  the  depths  of  trouble,  it  is 
partly  your  fault,  Father,”  said  Delphine.  A girl  has 
30  little  sense  up  to  the  time  she  is  married.  What 
io  we  know  of  the  world,  or  of  men  or  manners  ? It 
is  the  duty  of  our  fathers  to  see  to  these  things.  Dear 
Father,  I don’t  mean  to  blame  you,  — forgive  me  for 
saying  so.  In  this  case  the  fault  was  all  mine.  No  — 
don’t  cry,  Papa,”  she  said,  kissing  his  forehead. 

“ Don’t  you  cry,  either,  my  little  Delphine.  Stoop 
.ower,  that  I may  kiss  away  your  tears.  Ah  ! I will 
find  my  wits  again.  I will  unravel  the  tangle  thy 
husband  has  made  of  thy  affairs.” 

No,  let  me  manage  him.  I think  I can  get  him 
to  put  some  of  my  money  at  once  into  land.  Perhaps 
I can  make  him  buy  back  Nucingen  in  Alsace  in  my 
name.  I know  he  wants  it.  But  come  to-morrow, 
Papa,  and  look  into  his  books  and  his  affairs.  Mon- 
sieur DerviUe  knows  nothing  whatever  about  business. 
Stay  ! don’t  come  to-morrow,  — it  will  agitate  me  ; 
Madame  de  Beauseant’s  ball  is  the  day  after,  and  I 
want  to  take  care  of  myself  and  be  as  beautiful  as  pos» 
sible,  to  do  honor  to  my  dear  Eugene.  Let  us  go  and 
look  into  his  chamber.” 

I^At  this  moment  another  carriage  drew  up  in  the  Rue 
Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  and  Madame  de  Restaud’s 
voice  was  heard  speaking  to  Sylvie, 


284 


Pere  Goriot. 

Is  my  father  in  ? ” i 

This  circumstance  saved  Eugene,  who  was  on  the  ; 
point  of  throwing  himself  upon  the  bed  and  pretending  j 
to  be  asleep. 

“ Ah,  Papa,  have  you  heard  about  Anastasie  ? ” said 
Delphine,  recognizing  her  sister’s  voice.  “ It  seems 
that  very  strange  things  have  been  going  on  in  her 
household.” 

What  things ?”  cried  Pk^e  Goriot.  “Is  this  to  be 
my  end  ? My  poor  head  cannot  bear  another  blow  ! ” 

“ Papa,”  said  the  countess,  entering.  “ Ah,  you 
here,  Delphine?” 

Madame  de  Restaud  seemed  embarrassed  at  the 
sight  of  her  sister. 

“Good  morning,  Nasie,”  said  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

“ Do  you  think  my  being  here  so  extraordinary  ? I 
see  my  father  every  day.” 

“ Since  when  ? ” 

“ If  you  came  here,  you  would  know.” 

“ Don’t  aggravate  me,  Delphine,”  said  the  countess, 
vn  a lamentable  voice.  “I  am  very  unhappy.  I am 
ruined,  my  poor  Father,  — utterly  ruined,  at  last!” 

“What  is  it,  Nasie?”  cried  Pere  Goriot.  “ Tell  me 
all,  my  child.  Oh,  she  is  fainting ! — Delphine,  come, 
help  her;  be  kind  to  her,  and  I will  love  you  better 
than  ever  — if  I can.” 

“My  poor  Nasie,”  said  Madame  de  Nucingen,  mak- 
ing her  sister  sit  down,  “ speak ; we  are  the  only  ones  in 
the  world  who  love  you  enough  to  forgive  everything. 
You  see,  family  affections  are  the  safest,  after  all.” 

Pere  Goriot  shivered.  “ I shall  die  of  this,”  he  said, 
in  a low  voice.  “Come,”  he  continued,  stirring  the 


P§re  G-oriot. 


285 


miserable  fire;  “come  to  the  hearth,  both  of  you;  I 
am  cold.  What  is  it,  Nasie?  Speak,  — you  are  kill- 
ing me.” 

“ Father ! ” said  the  poor  woman.  “ My  husband 
knows  all.  You  remember,  some  time  ago,  that  note 
of  Maxime’s  which  you  paid  for  me  at  Gobseck’s? 
Well,  it  was  not  the  first.  I had  paid  many  before. 
About  the  beginning  of  January  he  was  greatly  out  of 
spirits;  he  would  tell  me  nothing.  But  it  is  so  easy  to 
read  the  heart  of  those  we  love,  — a trifle  tells  every- 
thing; besides,  there  are  presentiments.  He  was  more 
loving  and  tender  than  I had  ever  known  him.  Poor 
Maxime ! In  his  heart  he  was  bidding  me  good-by ; 
he  was  thinking  of  blowing  out  his  brains.  At  last 
I besouglit  him  so  earnestly  that  he  told  me  — but 
not  until  I had  been  two  hours  on  my  knees  — that 
he  owed  a hundred  thousand  francs.  Oh,  Papa! 
a hundred  thousand  francs!  I was  beside  myself. 
I knew  you  had  not  got  them ; I had  eaten  up  your 
all  — ” 

“ No,”  said  P6re  Goriot,  “ I have  not  got  them.  I 
cannot  give  them  to  you  — unless  I stole  them.  Yes ! 
I could  have  gone  out  to  steal  them.  Nasie,  I will 
go  — ” 

At  these  words,  forced  out  like  the  death-rattle  of 
the  dying,  — the  groan  of  paternal  love  reduced  to  im- 
potence,— the  sisters  paused:  what  selfish  souls  could 
listen  coldly  to  this  cry  of  anguish  that  like  a pebble 
flung  into  an  abyss  revealed  its  depths  ? 

“ I obtained  them,  my  Father,”  said  the  countess, 
bursting  into  tears.  “ I sold  that  which  did  not  belong 
to  me.” 


286  Pere  Croriot, 

Delphine,  too,  seemed  moved,  and  laid  her  head  upon 
her  sister^s  shoulder. 

‘‘  Then  it  was  all  true  ? ” she  said. 

Anastasie  bowed  her  head.  Madame  de  Nucingen 
took  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

“ You  will  always  be  loved,  not  judged,  by  me,”  she 
said. 

“ My  angels ! ” said  their  father  in  a feeble  voice ; 
“ alas ! that  your  union  should  come  only  through 
misfortune.” 

“ To  save  Maxime’s  life,  to  save  my  own  happiness,” 
resumed  the  countess,  comforted  by  these  proofs  of 
loving  kindness,  “ I carried  to  that  money-lender  whom 
you  know  of — that  man  born  in  hell,  whom  nothing 
moves  to  pity ; that  Monsieur  Gobseck  — the  family 
diamonds,  heir-looms  treasured  by  Monsieur  de  Res- 
taud : his,  ray  own,  all,  everything.  I sold  them. 
Sold  them,  do  you  understand  ? I saved  Maxime ; 
but  I killed  myself.  Restaud  knows  all.” 

“ Who  told  him  ? Who  ? that  I may  strangle  them ! ” 
cried  the  old  man  passionately. 

“ Yesterday  my  husband  sent  for  me  to  his  chamber. 
I went.  ‘ Anastasie,’  he  said  to  me,  in  such  a voice,  — 
oh,  his  voice  was  enough!  I knew  what  was  com- 
ing, — ^ Where  are  your  diamonds  ? ’ ‘ In  my  room,’  1 
answered.  ‘ No,’  he  said,  looking  full  at  me,  ^ they  are 
there,  on  ray  bureau.’  He  showed  me  the  case,  winch 
he  had  covered  with  his  handkerchief.  ^You  know 
where  they  have  come  from,’  he  said.  I fell  at  his 
feet ; I wept ; I asked  him  what  death  he  wished  me 
to  die  — ” 

“ Did  you  say  that  ? ” cried  Pere  Goriot.  “ By  all  that 

\ 


Pere  Goriot. 


287 


is  sacred,  any  one  who  blames  or  harms  my  children, 
while  I live,  may  be  sure  — that  I — 

The  words  died  in  his  throat,  and  he  was  silent. 

“ And  then,  dear  Father,  he  asked  me  to  do  some- 
thing harder  than  to  die.  Heaven  preserve  other 
women  from  hearing  what  he  said  to  me ! ” 

“ I shall  kill  him,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  slowly.  “ He  has 
but  one  life,  yet  he  owes  me  two.  What  followed  ?” 

“He  looked  at  me,”  she  continued,  after  a pause, 
« and  said,  ‘ Anastasie,  I will  bury  all  in  silence.  I 
will  not  separate  from  you,  — there  are  children  to  be 
considered.  I will  not  fight  with  Monsieur  de  Trailles, 

I might  miss  him.  Human  justice  gives  me  the  right 

to  kill  him  in  your  arms ; but  I will  not  dishonor  the 
children.  I spare  you  and  your  children,  but  I impose 
two  conditions.  Answer  me.  Are  any  of  these  chil- 
dren mine?’  I said, ‘Yes.’  ‘W^hich?’  ‘Ernest,  our 
eldest.’  ‘It  is  well,’  he  said.  ‘Next,  swear  to  obey 
me  in  future  on  one  point.’  I swore.  ‘You  will  sign 
over  to  me  your  property  when  I demand  it?’ 

. “ Sign  it  not ! ” cried  Pere  Goriot.  “ Never  sign  it ! 
Nasie,  Nasie,  he  cares  for  his  heir,  his  eldest.  I will 
seize  the  child.  Thunder  of  heaven ! he  is  mine  as 
well  as  his ; he  is  my  grandson.  I will  put  him  in  my 
village  where  I was  born.  I will  care  for  him  oh, 
yes,  be  sure  of  that ! I will  make  your  husband  yield. 
I will  say  to  him,  If  you  want  your  son,  give  me  back 
my  daughter;  restore  her  property;  leave  her  in 
peace  — ” 

“ Father!  ” 

“ Yes,  thy  father.  I am  thy  true  father.  Let  this 
great  lord  beware  how  he  maltreats  my  daughter  1 


288 


Pere  Goriot. 


A fire  is  running  through  my  veins ; I have  the  blood 
of  a tiger  in  me ! Oh,  my  children,  my  children  ! is 
this  your  life  ? — it  is  my  death.  What  will  become  of 
you  when  I am  gone  ? Why  cannot  a father  live  out 
the  life  of  his  child?  Oh,  my  God,  thy  world  is 
wrong ! — and  yet  thou  art  a father.  Oh,  Father  in 
heaven!  why  are  we  condemned  to  suffer  through 
our  children  ? (Ah,  my  angels,  it  is  only  your  griefs 
that  make  you  come  to  me,  — only  your  tears  that  you 
share  with  me!  Yes,  yes,  but  that  is  love;  I know 
you  love  me.  ] Come,  both  of  you,  come,  pour  your 
troubles  into  my  heart : it  is  strong,  it  is  large,  it  can 
hold  them  all.  Yes,  though  you  rend  it  into  fragments, 
each  fragment  is  a living  heart,  — a father’s  heart. 
Could  they  but  take  your  griefs  and  bear  them  for 
you ! Ah  ! when  you  were  my  little  ones  I made  you 
. happy.” 

■ We  have  never  been  happy  since,”  said  Delphine. 
“ Where  are  those  days  when  we  slid  down  the  sacks 
in  the  great  granary  ! ” 

“ Father,  I have  not  told  you  all,”  whispered  Anas- 
tasie  to  the  old  man,  who  started  convulsively.  The 
diamonds  did  not  bring  a hundred  thousand  francs. 
They  are  still  pursuing  Maxime.  We  have  twelve 
thousand  francs  more  to  pay.  He  has  promised  me  to 
reform  ; to  give  up  gambling.  All  I have  in  the  world 
is  his  affection ; and,  oh,  I have  paid  too  terrible  a 
price  for  it ! — I cannot  lose  him  now  ! I have  sacri- 
ficed honor,  fortune,  children,  peace  of  mind  for  him. 
Oh,  do  something  for  me,  that  he  may  not  be  impris- 
oned, not  driven  from  society  ! I know  he  will  yet 
make  himself  a position  in  the  world.  I have  nothing 


Pere  Goriot, 


289 


left  to  give  him  now.  But  we  have  children  ; they 
must  be  provided  for  All  will  be  lost  if  they  put  him 
in  Sainte-Pelagie,  — a debtor’s  prison  ! ” 

“I  have  nothing  — nothing  left,  Nasie — nothing! 
The  world  is  at  an  end  ; I feel  it  quaking,  crumbling. 
Fly,  fly ! save  yourselves  ! Stay  ! I have  still  my 
silver  buckles,  and  six  forks  and  spoons,  the  first  I ever 
owned.  But  I have  no  money,  only  my  annuity  — ” 

What  have  you  done  with  your  money  in  the 
funds  ?” 

sold  it  out,  keeping  a trifle  for  my  wants.  I 
wanted  the  rest,  twelve  thousand  francs,  to  furnish 
some  rooms  for  Fifine.” 

For  you,  Delphine?”  cried  Madame  de  Restaud. 

Never  mind,  never  mind,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  the 
twelve  thousand  francs  are  gone.” 

“ I guess  where,”  said  the  countess,  “ to  help  Mon- 
sieur de  Rastignac.  Ah,  my  poor  Delphine,  pause! 
see  what  I have  come  to.” 

My  dear.  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  is  a man  incapa- 
ble of  ruining  the  woman  who  loves  him.” 

Thank  you,  Delphine.  In  the  terrible  position  I 
am  in,  you  might  have  spared  me  that.  But  you  never 
loved  me.” 

Ah,  but  she  does  love  you,  Nasie ; she  was  saying 
so  just  now.  W^e  were  speaking  of  you,  and  she  said 
you  were  beautiful,  but  she  was  only  pretty  — ” 

Pretty  ! ” cried  the  countess ; her  heart  is  stone- 
cold.” 

“And  if  it  were!”  exclaimed  Delphine,  coloring, 
“how  have  you  behaved  to  me?  You  have  dis- 
claimed me ; you  have  shut  against  me  the  doors  of 

19 


290 


Pere  Groriot. 


houses  where  I longed  to  go ; you  have  never  let  slip 
an  opportunity  to  give  me  pain.  A cold  heart ! Did 
I come  like  you,  and  squeeze  out  of  our  poor  father, 
little  by  little,  a thousand  francs  here,  a thousand 
francs  there,  — all  he  possessed  ? Did  I reduce  him  to 
the  state  he  is  now  in  ? This  is  your  doing,  my  sister. 
I saw  my  father  as  often  as  I could.  I never  turned 
him  out  of  doors,  and  then  came  and  licked  his  hands 
when  I had  need  of  him.  I did  not  even  know  that  he 
was  spending  those  twelve  thousand  francs  for  me.  I 
at  least  have  some  decency  — and  you  know  it.  Papa 
may  sometimes  have  made  me  presents,  but  I never 
begged  for  them  — ” 

You  were  better  off  than  I.  Monsieur  de  Marsay 
was  rich,  as  you  had  good  cause  to  know.  You  have 
always  been  despicable  as  to  money.  Adieu,  I have 
no  sister,  no  — ” 

“ Hush,  Nasie  ! ” cried  Pere  Goriot. 

“ No  one  but  a sister — a sister  like  you  — would  in- 
sinuate what  the  world  itself  does  not  believe.  It  is 
monstrous ! ” cried  Delphine. 

My  children ! my  children ! hush,  or  you  will 
kill  me  before  your  eyes  — ” 

“ I forgive  you,  Nasie,”  continued  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  “ for  you  are  unhappy ; but  I am  better 
than  you — think  of  your  saying  that^  just  as  I was 
making  up  my  mind  to  do  everything  that  I could  for 
you.  Well,  it  is  worthy  of  all  that  you  have  done  to 
me  for  the  last  nine  years ! ” 

My  children ! oh,  my  children ! Kiss  each  other, 
be  friends/’  said  the  father.  “ You  are  two  angels.” 

‘^No,  let  me  alone!”  cried  the  countess,  whom 


P^re  Groriot, 


291 


Pere  Goriot  had  taken  by  the  arm;  ‘^she  has  less  pity 
for  me  than  my  husband.  An  example  of  all  the  vir- 
tues, indeed  ! ” 

I had  rather  be  supposed  to  owe  money  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Marsay  than  to  own  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles 
had  cost  me  two  hundred  thousand,  francs,”  replied 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

‘‘  Delphine ! ” cried  the  countess,  making  a step 
towards  her. 

“ I say  the  truth  ; but  what  you  say  of  me  is  false,” 
replied  the  other,  coldly. 

‘‘  Delphine,  you  are  a — ” 

Pere  Goriot  sprang  forward  and  prevented  the  coun- 
tess from  saying  more  by  putting  his  hand  over  her 
mouth. 

‘‘Good  heavens,  Papa!  what  have  you  been  touch- 
ing?” cried  Anastasie. 

“ Ah,  yes,  yes ! I ought  not  to  have  touched  you,” 
said  the  poor  father,  wiping  his  hand  upon  his  trousers, 
“ I did  not  know  you  were  coming.  I am  moving 
to-day.” 

He  was  glad  to  be  able  to  draw  upon  himself  a 
reproach  that  diverted  the  current  of  his  daughter’s 
anger. 

\li^Ah ! ” he  sighed,  sitting  down,  “ you  break  my 
heart.  I am  dying,  children  ; my  head  burns  as  if  my 
skull  were  full  of  fire.  Be  kind  to  each  other;  love 
one  another. — You  will  kill  me.  Delphine!  Nasie! 
you  were  both  right,  you  were  both  wrong.  Come, 
Dedel,”  he  resumed,  turning  to  Madame  de  Nucingen 
with  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  “ she  needs  twelve  thousand 
francs  ; let  us  see  how  we  can  get  them  for  her.  Oh, 


292 


Pere  Goriot. 


my  daughters,  do  not  look  at  each  other  like  that ! ” 
He  fell  down  on  his  knees  before  Delphine  : Ask  her 
pardon  for  my  sake,”  he  whispered ; “ she  is  more  un- 
happy than  you  are.” 

“My  poor  Nasie,”  said  Delphine,  frightened  by  the 
wild  and  maddened  expression  on  her  father’s  face, 

“ I was  wrong.  Kiss  me.”  ! 

“ Ah,  that  is  balm  to  my  heart ! ” cried  the  old  man.  f 
“ But  the  twelve  thousand  francs, — how  can  we  get  I 
them  ? I might  offer  myself  for  a substitute  in  the  ! 
army  — ” 

“Oh,  Father !”  cried  the  daughters  flinging  their! 
arms  about  him.  ‘‘No!”  j 

“ God  will  bless  you  for  that  thought,”  cried  Del-  j 
phine.  “We  are  not  worthy  of  it, — are  we,  Nasie?”  ^ 

“ And  besides,  my  poor  Father,  it  would  be  but  a I 
drop  in  the  bucket,”  observed  the  countess.  * 

v “ Will  flesh  and  blood  bring  nothing?  ” cried  the  old  | 
man  wildly.  “I  would  give  myself  away  to  whoever  j 
would  save  thee,  Nasie ; I would  commit  crimes  for  | 
him  ; I would  go  to  the  galleys,  like  Vautrin  ; I — ” | 
he  stopped  as  if  struck  by  a thunderbolt,  and  grasped 
his  head.  “ Nothing  more  ! — all  gone ! — ” he  said. 

“ No,  I could  steal  — if  I knew  where  : it  is  hard  to 
know  where.  Oh,  there  is  nothing  I can  do  — but 
die  ! Let  me  die  ! I am  good  for  nothing  else.  I am 
no  longer  a father : she  appeals  to  me  ; she  needs  my 
help,  and  I have  none  to  give  her ! Ah,  wretch  ! 
why  did  I buy  that  annuity  ? — I ! who  have  children  ! 
Did  I not  love  them  ? Die,  die ! like  a dog,  as  I 
am.  Yet  the  beasts  love  their  young  — Oh,  my 
head,  my  head ! it  bursts  ! ” 


P^re  Groriot. 


293 


He  sobbed  convulsively.  Eugene,  horror-stricken, 
took  up  the  note  he  had  once  signed  for  Vautrin,  the 
stamp  of  which  was  for  a much  larger  sum  than  that 
named  on  the  face  of  it;  he  altered  the  figures,  making 
it  a note  for  twelve  thousand  francs  payable  to  the  order 
of  Goriot,  and  went  into  the  old  man’s  chamber.^ 

“ Here  is  the  sura  you  want,  Madame,”  he  said,  giv- 
ing Madame  de  Restaud  the  paper.  “ I was  asleep  in 
my  room,  and  was  wakened  by  what  you  were  saying. 

I learned  for  the  first  time  what  I owe  to  Monsieur 
Goriot.  Here  is  a paper  on  which  you  will  be  able  to 
raise  the  money.  When  it  matures,  I promise  faith- 
fully that  it  shall  be  paid.” 

The  countess  stood  motionless,  holding  the  paper. 
« Delphine,”  she  said,  pale,  and  trembling  with  anger, 
rage,  and  fury,  “ I take  God  to  witness  that  I forgave 
you  all—  oh!  butife's.'  What!  Monsieur  has  been 
there,  and  you  knew  it  ? You  have  had  the  meanness 
to  feed  your  spite  by  letting  him  hear  my  secrets,  — 
mine,  my  children’s,  — my  shame,  my  dishonor!  Go, 
you  are  a sister  no  longer!  I hate  you!  I will  harm 
you,  if  I can.  I — ” 

Anger  cut  short  her  words ; her  throat  was  parched 
and  dry. 

“My  child!  he  is  one  of  us;  he  is  my  son,  your 
brother,  our  deliverer,”  cried  Pere  Goriot.  “Kiss 
him,  thank  him,  Nasie.  See,  I embrace  him,”  he  went 
on,  clasping  Eugene  to  his  breast  with  a sort  of  fury. 
“ Oh,  my  son ! ” he  cried,  “ I will  be  more  than  a father 
to  thee.  Nasie,  Nasie ! bless  him  and  thank  him.” 

“ Don’t  speak  to  her.  Father,  she  is  out  of  her  senses,” 
said  Delphine.’^ 


294 


Pere  Goriot. 


“Out  of  my  senses!  And  you?  — what  are  you  ?” 
■cried  Madame  de  Restaud. 

“ Oh,  my  children ! I die  if  you  continue,”  cried  the 
old  man,  falling  across  his  bed  as  if  struck  by  a shot. 
“ They  are  killing  me,”  he  said. 

The  countess  turned  to  Eugene,  who  stood  motion- 
less, struck  dumb  by  the  violence  of  the  scene  before 
him. 

“ Monsieur  ? ” she  said,  and  her  gesture,  tone,  and 
look  were  interrogative.  She  paid  no  attention  to 
her  father,  whose  waistcoat  was  being  loosened  by 
Delphine. 

“ Madame,  I shall  pay  and  keep  silence,”  he  said, 
answering  her  question  before  she  asked  it. 

“ You  have  killed  our  father,  Nasie,”  cried  Delphine, 
pointing  to  the  old  man  now  senseless  on  the  bed. 

Madame  de  Restaud  left  the  room. 

“ I forgive  her,”  he  said,  opening  his  eyes ; “ her 
position  is  dreadful,  and  would  turn  a wiser  head. 
Console  her,  Delphine.  Be  good  to  her,  — promise 
your  poor  father,  who  is  dying,”  he  went  on,  pressing 
her  hand. 

“But  what  ails  you  ?”  she  said,  much  frightened. 

“Nothing,  nothing,”  her  father  answered.  “ It  will 
go  off  presently.  I have  a weight  upon  my  fore- 
head ; a headache.  Poor  Nasie,  what  will  become  of 
her?” 

At  this  moment  Madame  de  Restaud  returned  and 
threw  herself  down  beside  her  father.  “Oh,  foraive 
me ! she  cried. 

“Come,  come,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  “that  hurts  me 
more  than  anything.” 


Pere  Gforiot. 


295 


Monsieur  ” said  the  countess,  turning  to  Rastignac 
nth  tears  in  her  eyes,  ‘‘  my  troubles  have  made  me 
injust.  You  will  be  a brother  to  me?”  she  added, 
lolding  out  her  hand. 

‘‘Nasie”  said  Delphine,  ‘‘my  little  Nasie,  let  us  for- 
jet  everything.” 

“ No,”  she  said,  “ I shall  remember.” 

“ My  angels,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  “ you  lift  the  cur- 
ain  that  was  falling  before  my  eyes.  Your  voices 
iall  me  back  to  life.  Let  me  see  you  kiss  each 
)ther  once  more.  Tell  me,  Nasie,  will  this  note  save 
,^ou  ? ” 

“ I hope  so.  But,  Papa,  will  you  indorse  it  ? ” 

“ Why,  what  a fool  I was  to  forget  that ! — but  I was 
11.  Nasie,  don’t  be  vexed  with  me.  Let  me  know 
vhen  you  are  out  of  your  troubles.  • But,  stay,  I will 
yo  to  you  — No,  I will  not  go.  I dare  not  see  your 
lusband.  As  to  his  doing  what  he  pleases  with  your 
fortune,  remember,  I am  here.  Adieu,  my  child.  ’ 

Eugene  stood  stupefied. 

\“Poor  Anastasie!  she  was  always  violent,”  said 
Madame  de  Nucingen  ; “but  she  has  a kind  heart.” 

“She  came  back  for  the  indorsement,”  whispered 
Eugene  in  her  ear. 

“ Do  you  think  so  ? ” 

“ I wish  I did  not  think  it.  Do  not  trust  her,”  he 
added,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  as  if  to  confide  a thought 
not  to  be  put  into  words. 

“ Yes,  she  was  always  acting  a part ; and  my  poor 
father  was  completely  taken  in  by  her” 

“ How  are  you  now,  dear  Pere  Goriot  ? ” asked 
Rastignac,  bending  over  the  old  man. 


296  Pere  Groriot.  ^ 

“ I feel  like  going  to  sleep,”  he  answered.  Eugene 
helped  him  to  go  to  bed ; and  after  he  had  fallen  asleep 
holding  his  daughter’s  hand,  Delphine  quietly  left  him. 

To-night,  at  the  opera,”  she  said  to  Eugene,  you* 
will  bring  me  word  how  he  is.  To-morrow  you  wili 
change  your  quarters,  Monsieur.  Let  me  peep  into! 
your  room  — oh,  what  a horrid  place ! it  is  worsci 
than  my  father’s.  Eugene,  you  behaved  beautifully  k 
I would  love  you  more  than  ever  for  it  — if  I could. 
But,  my  child,  if  you  mean  to  get  on  in  the  world 
you  must  give  up  throwing  twelve  thousand  franc 
notes  about  in  that  way.  Monsieur  de  Trailles  is  f I 
gambler,  though  my  sister  will  not  admit  it.  Hi  I 
could  have  picked  up  that  twelve  thousand  francisj 
in  the  place  where  he  has  lost  and  won  a mint  of! 
money.  ” • ! 

A groan  brought  them  hastily  back  to  Pere  Goriot.j 
He  was  to  all  appearances  asleep,  but  as  they  ap- 
proached they  heard  him  say,  Not  happy ; they  are 
not  happy  ! ” Whether  he  were  asleep  or  awake,  the 
tone  in  which  he  uttered  the  words  struck  so  painfully 
to  his  daughter’s  heart  that  she  leaned  over  the 
wretched  bed  on  which  her  father  lay  and  kissed  him 
on  his  forehead.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  murmured, 
‘‘  Delphine ! ” 

How  are  you  now?  ” she  said. 

“ Better.  Do  not  worry  about  me.  I shall  get  up 
presently.  Go  away,  my  children,  and  be  happy.” 

Eugene  took  Delphine  home  ; but  not  liking  the  con- 
dition in  which  they  had  left  Pere  Goriot,  he  refused 
to  dine  with  her,  and  went  back  to  the  Maison  Vau- 
quer.  He  found  him  better,  and  just  sitting  down  to 


297 


Pere  Goriot. 

inner.  Bianchon  had  placed  himself  so  that  he  could 
'atch  the  old  man  unobserved.  When  he  saw  him 
ike  up  his  bread  and  smell  it  to  judge  the  quality  of 
le  flour,  the  medical  student,  observing  a total  absence 
f all  consciousness  of  the  act,  made  a significant 
0stiiirG» 

“ Come  and  sit  by  me,  graduate  of  the  Cochin  Hos- 
ital,”  said  Eugene. 

Bianchon  did  as  he  was  asked,  all  the  more  readily 
lecause  it  placed  him  nearer  to  the  old  man. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? ” whispered 

l^astignac.  . 

“ If  I am  not  mistaken,  he ’s  done  for.  Something 
(ut  of  the  common  must  have  excited  him.  He  is 
hreatened  with  apoplexy.  The  lower  part  of  his  face 
s calm  enough,  but  the  upper  part  is  drawn  and  unnat- 
iral.  The  eyes  have  the  peculiar  expression  which 
lenotes  pressure  on  the  brain ; don’t  you  notice  that 
hey  are  covered  with  a light  film  ? To-morrow 
norning  I shall  be  able  to  judge  better.” 

“ Is  there  any  cure  for  it  ? ” 

“ None.  Possibly  we  might  retard  his  death  if  we 
jould  set  up  a reaction  in  the  extremities ; but  if  the 
present  symptoms  continue,  it  will  be  all  up  with  the 
poor  old  fellow  before  to-morrow  night.  Do  you  know 
what  brought  on  his  illness  ? He  must  have  had  some 
great  shock  that  his  mind  has  sunk  under.” 

“Yes,  he  has,”  said  Rastignac,  remembering  how 
the  daughters  had  struck  alternate  blows  at  their 
father’s  heart.  “But,  at  least,”  he  said  to  himself 

Delphine  loves  her  old  father. 


298 


Pere  GiorioL 


XVII. 

That  night,  at  the  opera,  Eugene  took  some  precau 
tions  not  to  alarm  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

Oh,  you  need  not  be  so  anxious  about  him,”  sh< 
said,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  tell  her  of  the  illness 
‘‘  My  father  is  very  strong ; this  morning  we  shool 
him  a little,  that  is  all.  Our  fortunes  are  in  peril:  dc 
you  realize  the  extent  of  that  misfortune  ? I coulc 
not  survive  it,  if  it  were  not  that  your  affection  makes 
me  indifferent  to  what  I should  otherwise  considei 
the  greatest  sorrow  in  the  world.  I have  but  one 
fear  now,  — to  lose  the  love  which  makes  it  happiness 
to  live.  All  outside  of  that  I have  ceased  to  care  for ; 
you  are  all  in  all  to  me.  If  I desire  to  keep  my  wealth, 
it  is  that  I may  better  please  you.  I know  that  I can 
be  more  to  a lover  than  to  a father ; it  is  my  nature. 
My  father  gave  me  a heart,  but  you  have  made  it 
beatX  The  world  may  blame  me,  — I do  not  care ; 
you  will  acquit  me  of  sins  into  which  I am  drawn  by 
an  irresistible  attachment.  You  think  me  an  unnatural 
daughter?  No,  I am  not : who  would  not  love  a father 
kind  as  ours  has  been  ? But  how  could  I prevent  his 
knowing  the  inevitable  results  of  our  deplorable  mar- 
riages? Why  did  he  not  prevent  them  ? Was  it  not 
his  duty  to  think  and  judge  for  us  ? I know  that  he 
suffers  now  as  much  as  we  do;  but  how  can  I help 


Pere  Groriot. 


299 


I at  ? Ought  we  to  make  light  of  our  troubles  ? That 
ould  do  no  good.  Our  silence  would  have  distressed 
m far  more  than  our  reproaches  and  complaints  have 
jured  him.  There  are  some  situations  in  life  where 
^ery  alternative  is  bitter.” 

Eugene  was  silent,  touched  by  this  simple  expression 
• native  feeling.  The  clear  judgment  a woman  shows 
judging  natural  affections  when  a privileged  aifection 
jparates  and  holds  her  at  a distance  from  them,  struck 
m forcibly.  Madame  de  Nucingen  was  troubled  by 
s silence. 

“ What  are  you  thinking  of  ? ” she  said. 

‘‘  Of  what  you  have  just  said  to  me.  Until  now,  I 
lought  that  I loved  you  more  than  you  love  me.” 

She  smiled,  but  checked  the  expression  of  her  feel- 
igs,  that  she  might  keep  the  conversation  within  the 
)nventional  limits  of  propriety. 

“ Eugene,”  she  said,  changing  the  conversation,  ‘‘  do 
ou  know  what  is  going  on  in  the  world?  All  Paris 
ill  be  at  Madame  de  Beauseant’s  to-morrow  evening, 
he  Rochefides  and  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda  have  agreed 
) keep  the  matter  secret ; but  it  is  certain  that  the 
ing  signs  the  marriage  contract  to-morrow  morning, 
ad  that  your  poor  cousin  as  yet  knows  nothing  of  it. 
he  cannot  put  off  her  ball,  and  the  marquis  will  not 
e there.  All  the  world  is  talking  of  it.” 

Then  the  world  is  amusing  itself  with  what  is  in- 
imous,”  cried  Eugene,  ‘‘  and  makes  itself  an  accom- 
lice.  Don’t  you  know  that  it  will  kill  Madame  de 
Jeauseant  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no,  it  will  not,”  said  Delphine,  smiling ; you 
on’t  understand  that  sort  of  woman.  But  all  Paris 


300 


Pere  Groriot, 


will  be  at  her  ball,  — and  I too,  I shall  be  there!  ; 
owe  this  happiness  to  you/’ 

‘‘  Perhaps,”  said  Rastignac,  “ it  is  only  one  of  thos< 

, unfounded  rumors  which  are  always  flying  abou 
Paris.” 

We  shall  know  to-morrow.” 

^ Eugene  did  not  go  back  to  the  Maison  Vauquer 
The  pleasure  of  occupying  his  new  rooms  in  the  Riu 
^ d’Artois  was  a temptation  too  great  to  withstand 
The  next  morning  he  slept  late ; and  towards  middaj 
Madame  de  Nucingen  came  to  breakfast  with  him 
Young  people  are  so  eager  for  these  pretty  enjoyments 
^fhat  he  had  well-nigh  forgotten  Pere  Goriot.  It  was 
like  a delightful  festival  to  make  use  of  each  elegant 
trifle  that  was  now  his  own ; and  the  presence  oi 
Madame  de  Nucingen  lent  to  them  all  an  added 
charm.  Nevertheless,  about  four  o’clock  they  remem 
bered  the  old  man,  and  as  they  recalled  the  happiness 
he  had  shown  at  the  thought  of  living  there,  Eugene 
remarked  that  they  ought  to  get  him  there  at  once, 
— especially  if  he  were  likely  to  be  ill ; and  he  left 
Delphine  to  fetch  him  from  the  Maison  Vauquer. 

Neither  Goriot  nor  Bianchon  were  at  the  dinner- 
table. 

^ ‘‘  Well,”  said  the  painter,  ‘‘  so  Pere  Goriot  has  broken 
down  at  last!  Bianchon  is  upstairs  with  him.  The 
old  fellow  saw  one  of  his  daughters  this  morning,  — 
that  Countess  de  Restau-rama.  After  that  he  went 
out,  and  made  himself  worse.  Society  is  about  to  be 
deprived  of  one  of  its  brightest  ornaments.” 

Eugene  rushed  to  the  staircase.  I 


Pere  Groriot. 


301 


« Here,  Monsieur  Eugene ! ” 

Monsieur  Eugene  ! Madame  is  calling  you/’  cried 

Jylvie. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  widow,  ‘‘  you  and  Pke  Goriot 
^ere  to  have  left  on  the  15th  of  February ; it  is  three 
lays  past  that  time,  — this  is  the  18th.  I shall  expect 
)oth  of  you  to  pay  me  a month’s  lodging ; but  if  you 
choose  to  be  responsible  for  Pere  Goriot,  your  word 
»vill  be  satisfactory.”  ^ 

« Why  so  ? Cannot  you  trust  him  ? ” 

“Trust  him!  If  he  were  to  go  out  of  his  mind 
)r  die,  his  daughters  would  not  pay  me  a farthing; 
ind  all  he  will  leave  is  not  worth  ten  francs.  He 
3arried  off  the  last  of  his  forks  and  spoons  this 


morning.  I don’t  know  why.  He  had  dressed  him- 
self up  like  a young  man.  Heaven  forgive  me,  but  I 
do  think  he  had  put  rouge  on  his  cheeks.  He  looked 
q[uite  young  again.” 

“ I will  be  responsible,”  cried  Eugene,  with  a shud- 
der, foreseeing  a catastrophe. 

He  ran  up  to  Pere  Goriot’s  chamber.  The  old  man 
was  lying  on  his  bed,  with  Bianchon  beside  him. 

“ Good  evening,  Father,”  said  Eugene. 

Pere  Goriot  smiled  gently  and  said,  turning  his 
glassy  eyes  upon  the  student,  “How  is  she?” 

“ Quite  well ; and  you?” 

“ Not  very  ill.” 

“ Don’t  tire  him,”  said  Bianchon,  drawing  Eugene 
apart  into  a corner  of  the  room. 

“ Well?”  asked  Rastignac. 

“ Nothing  can  save  him  but  a miracle.  The  conges* 
tion  I expected  has  taken  place.  I ’ve  put  on  mustard 


302  Pere  Goriot. 

plasters,  and  luckily  they  are  drawing:  he  feels 
them.” 

‘‘  Can  he  be  moved  ? ” 

“ Not  possibly.  You  must  leave  him  where  he  is, 
and  he  must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  free  from 
emotion  ” 

Dear  Bianchon,”  said  Eugene,  “ we  will  take  care 
of  him  together.” 

“ I called  in  the  surgeon-in-chief  of  my  hospital.” 

“ What  did  he  say  ? ” 

|V“He  will  give  no  opinion  till  to-morrow  evening. 

/He  has  promised  to  come  in  after  he  gets  through  his 
work  for  the  day.  It  is  quite  certain  that  the  old  fel- 
low has  b^en  up  to  some  imprudence  ; but  he  won’t 
tell  me  what.  He  is  as  obstinate  as  a mule.  When  I 
speak  to  him  he  either  makes  believe  he  does  not  hear, 
or  that  he  has  gone  to  sleep ; or  if  his  eyes  are  open, 
he  begins  to  groan.  He  went  out  this  morning  and 
walked  all  over  Paris,  nobody  knows  where.  He 
carried  off  everything  he  owned  of  any  value;  he 
has  been  making  some  infernal  sale  of  his  things, 
and  exhausting  his  strength.  One  of  his  daughters 
was  here.” 

X u Ah  ! ” said  Rastignac,  ‘‘  the  countess  ; a tall,  dark 
woman,  with  fine  eyes,  a pretty  foot,  and  graceful 
figure  ? ” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ Leave  me  a moment  alone  with  him,”  said  Eugene 
“ I can  get  him  to  tell  me  everything.” 

“ Well,  then,  I ’ll  go  and  get  my  dinner.  Be  careful 
not  to  agitate  him.  There  is  still  some  hope.” 

“ I ’ll  be  careful.” 


Pere  Gioriot. 


803 


s They  will  enjoy  themselves  to-morrow,”  said  Pere 
ioriot  to  Eugene  as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  “ They 
ire  going  to  a*  great  ball.” 

«What  did  you  do  this  morning,  Papa,  to  knock 
rourself  up  and  have  to  go  to  bed  ? 

‘‘  Nothing.” 

“Was  Anastasie  here?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Pere  Goriot. 

“ Well,  then,  don’t  keep  any  secrets  from  me.  What 
lid  she  ask  you  for  this  time  ? ” 

\ “ Ah ! ” he  replied,  rallying  his  strength  to  speak. 
^ Poor  child ! she  was  in  great  trouble.  Nasie  has  not 
L sou  of  her  own  since  the  affair  of  the  diamonds.  She 
lad  ordered  for  this  ball  a beautiful  dress  of  gold  tissue, 
vhich  would  set  her  off  like  a jewel.  The  dressmaker 
— infamous  creature!  — refused  to  trust  her,  and  her 
naid  paid  a thousand  francs  on  account — poor  Nasie  ! 
hat  she  should  come  to  that ! it  breaks  my  heart ; — 
)ut  the  maid,  finding  that  Restaud  had  withdrawn  all 
5onfidence  from  Nasie,  was  afraid  of  losing  her  money, 
o she  arranged  with  the  dressmaker  not  to  deliver  the 
Iress  till  the  thousand  francs  were  paid.  The  ball  is 
o-morrow;  the  dress  is  ready;  Nasie  is  in  despair. 
ihe  wanted  to  borrow  my  forks  and  spoons  and  pawn 
hem.  Her  husband  insists  that  she  shall  go  to  the 
)all  in  order  to  show  all  Paris  the  diamonds  she  was 
laid  to  have  sold.  Could  she  say  to  him,  ‘ I owe  a 
thousand  francs;  pay  them  for  me’?  No:  I felt 
hat  myself.  Her  sister  Delphine  is  to  be  there  in  a 
)eautiful  dress ; Anastasie  ought  not  to  be  less  brilliant 
han  her  younger  sister,  — certainly  not.  Besides,  she 
vas  drowned  in  tears,  my  poor  little  daughter ! 1 


804 


Pere  Gforiot, 


was  so  mortified  that  I had  not  those  twelve  thousand 
francs  yesterday ! I would  have  given  the  rest  of  my 
miserable  life  to  make  amends.^^You  see,  I have  borne 
up  till  now  against  everything;  but  this  last  want  of 
money  has  broken  my  heart.  — Well,  well,  I made  no 
bones  about  it ; I patched  myself  up  ; I tried  to  make 
myself  look  spruce,  and  I sold  my  forks  and  spoons 
and  the  buckles  for  six  hundred  francs.  Then  I made 
over  my  annuity  for  one  year  to  old  Gobseck  for  four 
hundred  more.  — Bah  ! I can  live  on  dry  bread  : I did 
when  I was  young. — So  my  Nasie  will  appear  to- 
morrow evening.  I have  got  the  thousand  francs  under 
my  pillow.  It  warms  me  up  to  feel  them  there  under 
my  head,  and  to  know  that  they  are  going  to  give  com-! 
fort  to  my  poor  child.  She  is  to  come  for  them  at  ten 
o’clock  to-morrow  morning.  I shall  be  quite  well  by 
that  time.  I don’t  want  them  to  think  me  ill ; they 
might  not  like  to  go  to  the  ball,  — they  would  wish  to 
stay  and  nurse  me.  Nasie  will  kiss  me  to-morrow  as 
if  I were  a baby.  After  all,  I might  have  spent  that 
money  on  the  apothecary ; I ’d  rather  give  it  to  my 
Cure-all,  — my  Nasie.  I can  still  comfort  her  in  her 
troubles : that  makes  up  in  part  for  having  sunk  my 
money  in  an  annuity.  She  is  down  in  the  very  depths, 
and  I have  no  strength  to  pull  her  up  again  ! — I am 
going  back  into  business  ; I shall  go  to  Odessa  and 
buy  wheat : wheat  is  worth  three  times  as  much  with 
us  as  it  costs  there.  The  importation  of  cereals  as  raw 
material  is  forbidden ; but  the  good  people  who  make 
the  laws  never  thought  of  prohibiting  manufactured 
articles  of  flour.  Ha ! ha ! the  idea  came  into  my  head 
this  morning.  I shall  make  millions  out  of  my  pastes.” 


Pere  Ooriot, 


305 


He  is  losing  his  mind/'  thought  Eugene,  looking 
lown  upon  the  old  man.  Come,  now,  lie  still,  and 
lon't  talk,”  he  said. 

Rastigiiac  went  to  dinner  when  Bianchon  came  up. 
3oth  passed  the  night  taking  turns  beside  the  sick  bed. 
)ne  occupied  himself  in  reading  medical  books,  the 
)ther  in  writing  to  his  mother  and  sisters.  /<rhe  next 
norning  Bianchon  thought  the  symptoms  somewhat 
nore  favorable,  but  the  patient  needed  the  intelligent 
)ersonal  care  which  the  two  students  alone  could  give 
lim.  ^Leeches  were  put  on  the  emaciated  body  of  the 
)oor  old  man,  and  poultices;  mustard  foot-baths  were 
idministered,  and  a number  of  medical  devices  resorted 
o which  required  all  the  strength  of  the  two  young 
nen.j"  Madame  de  Restaud  did  not  come,  but  sent  a 
nessenger  for  the  money. 

I thought  she  would  have  come  herself ; but  per- 
laps  it  is  best  so,  — she  might  have  been  anxious,” 
;aid  her  father,  trying  to  make  the  best  of  his 
iisappointment. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  Therese  appeared, 
)ringing  a letter  for  Eugene  ; — 

What  can  you  he  doing,  dear  friend  ? Am  I neglected  as 
lOon  as  loved  ? You  have  shown  me,  in  the  outpourings  of 
leart  to  heart,  a soul  so  beautiful  that  I trust  you  as  one  of 
hose  forever  faithful  through  many  phases  and  shades  of  feei- 
ng. Do  you  remember  what  you  said  as  we  were  listening 
,o  the  prayer  of  Moses  in  Egypt'?  ^ To  some  it  seems  hut  a 
angle  note ; to  others  the  infinite  of  music.'  Do  not  forget  that 
’ expect  you  this  evening  to  go  wuth  me  to  Madame  de  Beau- 
5eant's.  Monsieur ’d'Adjuda's  marriage  contract  was  signed  by 
he  king  this  morning,  and  the  poor  viscountess  did  not  know 
20 


306 


Pere  Groriot, 


of  it  till  two  o’clocli.  All  Paris  will  be  at  her  house  to-night ; 
just  as  a crowd  flocks  to  the  Place  de  Greve  to  see  an  execu- 
tion. Is  it  not  horrible  that  people  should  go  there  to  see  it 
she  can  hide  her  grief,  — if  she  knows  how  to  die  ^ I certainly 
would  not  go  if  I had  been  to  her  house  before.  But  she  will 
probably  never  receive  again,  and  then  all  the  efforts  I have  made 
to  go  there  would  be  thrown  away.  My  situation  is  different 
from  that  of  others.  And  besides,  I shall  be  there  for  your 
sake.  If  you  do  not  come  to  me  within  two  hours,  I am  not 
sure  that  I shall  pardon  you  for  the  crime.^^ 

Eugene  seized  a pen  and  replied  thus : — 

I am  waiting  for  a doctor,  who  will  say  how  long  your 
father  has  to  live.  He  is  dying.  I will  come  and  tell  you 
what  the  medical  opinion  is.  I fear  it  can  only  be  that  he 
will  not  recover.  You  will  judge  whether  you  can  go  to  the 
ball.  Tender  remembrances.^^ 

)^The  doctor  came  at  half-past  eight,  and  though  he 
could  hold  out  no  hopes  of  improvement  he  thought 
death  was  not  imminent.  He  said  there  would  be 
changes  to  better  or  worse,  and  on  these  would  hang 
the  life  and  reason  of  the  patient. 

‘‘Far  better  that  he  should  die,”  were  his  last  wwds. 

^ Eugene  consigned  Pere  Goriot  to  the  care  of  Bian- 
chon,  and  went  to  Madame  de  Nuciugen  with  the  sad 
news,  which  to  his  mind,  still  imbued  as  it  was  with 
tender  memories  of  his  home,  precluded  all  possibility 
of  amusement  for  a daughter. 

“ Tell  her  to  go  to  the  ball  and  enjoy  herself  all  the 
same,”  said  Pere  Goriot,  who  they  hoped  was  dozing, 
but  who  started  up  in  bed  when  he  saw  that  Rastignac 
was  going. 


Pere  Goriot. 


807 


The  young  man  entered  Delphine’s  presence  with 
is  heart  full  of  grief  and  pity.  He  found  her  with 
er  toilette  made,  her  hair  dressed,  and  nothing  more 
3 be  done  than  to  put  on  her  ball-dress.  But  like  .an 
rtist’s  final  work  upon  his  canvas,  the  finishing  touches 
ook  more  time  than  the  picture  itself. 

« What ! are  you  not  dressed  ? ” she  said. 

But,  Madame,  your  father  is  — ” 

“ Why  do  you  harp  upon  my  father  ? ” she  cried,  in« 
errupting  him.  “ You  need  not  teach  me  my  duty  to 
ny  father.  I have  known  my  father  for  a long  time. 

^ot  another  word,  Eugene ;.  I will  not  listen  to  you 
ill  you  have  made  your  toilette.  Therese  has  laid  out 
verything  in  your  room.  My  c.arriage  is  at  the  door ; 

.ake  it,  and  come  back  as  soon  as  possible.  We  can 
alk  about  my  f.ather  as  we  are  driving  to  the  ball.  I _ 
vish  to  start  early,  for  if  we  are  cjiught  in  the  line  of 
iarri.ages  it  may  be  midnight  before  we  get  there. 

“ Madame ! — ” 

“ Go,  go ! not  another  word,”  she  cried,  running  into 
ler  boudoir  for  a necklace. 

“ Go,  Monsieur  Eugene  — go ! ” said  Therese,  “ or  you 
vill  make  Madame  very  angry.” 

So  saying,  she  pushed  the  young  man,  who  stood  dis- 
mayed and  silenced  by  this  elegant  parricide.  He  went 
iway  and  dressed  himself,  filled  with  melancholy  and 
disheartening  reflections.  The  world  seemed  to  him 
like  an  ocean  of  slime,  in  which  a man  sank  up  to  his 
throat  if  he  so  much  as  put  his  foot  into  it.  ^ 

“Its  wickednesses  are  mean,  — are  paltry,”  he  cried. 

“ Vautrin’s  crimes  at  least  were  great.” 

He  had  now  seen,  by  experience,  the  three  great 


808 


Fere  (xoriot. 


phases  of  society,  — Obedience,  Struggle,  and  Revolts 
Family-life,  the  World,  and  Vautrin.  He  dared  not 
make  his  choice  among  them.  Obedience  had  become 
to  him  stagnation ; revolt  was  impossible ; struggle 
false  and  uncertain.  He  thought  of  his  home  ; he  re- 
membered the  pure  emotions  of  that  peaceful  life ; his 
mind  went  back  to  the  years  passed  among  the  dear 
ones  who  fondly  loved  him.  He  said  to  himself  that 
those,  who  conformed  in  all  things  to  the  natural 
laws  of  family  life  were  fully,  perfectly,  permanentlj^ 
happy. 

But  though  he  owned  these  things,  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  assert  them  to  Delphine.  Could  he  confess 
the  faith  of  purity  to  her  ? Could  he  talk  to  her  of 
virtue  in  the  guise  of  love  ? His  worldly  training  was 
already  bearing  fruit ; his  love  was  selfisjiness.  His 
instinct  enabled  him  to  sound  the  inner  nature  of 
Delphine : he  believed  her  capable  of  going  to  this 
ball  over  the  dead  body  of  her  father ; but  he  had  nei- 
ther the  strength  to  oppose  her  by  argument,  nor  the 
courage  to  displease  her,  nor  the  virtue  to  give  her  up. 
“ She  would  never  forgive  me  for  being  right  where 
she  was  bent  on  doing  wrong,^’  was  his  reflection. 
Then  he  recalled  the  doctor’s  words.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  Fhre  Goriot  was  not  so  dangerously  ill  as 
he  had  thought;  he  multiplied  heartless  arguments 
that  he  might  justify  Delphine : she  could  not  know 
her  father^s  true  condition  ; the  poor  old  man  himself 
would  send  her  to  the  ball  if  she  went  to  see  him.  He 
reflected  also  that  the  laws  of  social  life  are  absolute, 
and  make  no  allowances  for  differences  of  character,  or 
interests,  or  situations.  He  tried  to  deceive  himself, 


Pere  Croriot. 


309 


ind  find  reasons  to  sacrifice  his  conscience  to  his  mis- 
a-ess.  For  two  days  past  everything  within  him  and 
ibout  him  had  changed.  Woman  had  turned  the  cur- 
"ent  of  his  whole  existence ; home  and  its  ties  had 
oaled  before  her  influence  j she  had  confiscated  all 
things  to  her  profit^— 

v ;‘Teirme  now,  how  is  my  father?”  said  Madame 
ie  Nucingen,  when  he  came  back  dressed  for  the  ball. 

“ Very  ill,”  he  said.  “ If  you  would  give  me  a proof 
af  your  affection,  you  would  let  me  take  you  to  him  at 
once.” 

« -Well  — yes  ; ” she  said ; “ but  it  must  be  after  the 
ball.  Eugene,  be  good ; don’t  preach  to  me.  Come ! 

They  drove  away.  Eugene  sat  silent  for  a part  of 
the  way. 

“ What  are  you  thinking  of  ? ” she  asked. 

“ I am  listening  to  the  rattle  in  your  father’s  throat,” 
he  answered  in  a tone  of  anger;  and  he  began  to  relate, 
with  the  fiery  eloquence  of  youth,  the  cruelty  to  which 
Madame  de  Restaud’s  vanity  had  pushed  her,  the  last 
supreme  act  of  their  father’s  self-devotion,  and  the  mor- 
tal cost  of  that  golden  robe  in  which  Anastasie  was 
now  about  to  appear.  Delphine  wept. 

“ But  it  will  make  me  ugly she  thought  — and  her 
tears  dried  at  once.  “ I will  go  and  nurse  my  father. 
I will  stay  beside  his  pillow,”  she  said  aloud. 

“ Ah ! now,  indeed,  thou  art  all  that  I would  have 
thee ! ” cried  Eugene. 

The  lamps  of  five  hundred  carriages  lighted  the 
approach  to  the  Hbtel  de  Beauseant,  and  on  either 
side  of  the  illuminated  gateway  was  a mounted  gen^ 
darme.  The  great  world  flocked  thither  in  such  crowds. 


810 


Pere  Croriot. 


eager  to  gaze  on  this  great  lady  at  the  moment  of  her 
downfall,  that  the  ball-rooms  on  the  ground-floor  oi\ 
the  Hotel  were  fllled  when  Madame  de  Nucingen  and 
Rastignac  entered  them.  Since  the  famous  occasion 
when  a whole  Court  rushed  to  see  la  grande  Made- 
moiselle^ after  Louis  XIV.  had  torn  her  lover  from  her 
arms,  no  disaster  of  the  heart  had  excited  such  intense 
interest  as  this  of  Madame  de  Beauseant.  On  this 
occasion  the  daughter  of  the  semi-royal  house  of 
Burgundy  rose  superior  to  her  woe,  and  swayed  to 
her  latest  moment  that  world  whose  homage  she  had 
valued  only /as  incense  to  be  offered  on  the  altar  of 
her  friend.  )(The  loveliest  women  in  Paris  adorned  the 
rooms  with  their  dresses  and  their  smiles.  The  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  Court,  — ambassadors,  minis- 
ters, heroes  illustrious  in  a hundred  ways,  and  covered 
with  crosses,  medals,  and  ribbons  of  all  orders,  — pressed 
around  their  hostess.  The  great  world  had  arrayed 
itself  as  if  to  make  a last  obeisance  to  its  sovereign. 
The  music  of  the  orchestra  floated  in  tender  harmonies 
along  the  gilded  ceilings  of  the  palace  now  desolate 
for  its  queen.  Madame  de  Beauseant  stood  within  the 
doorway  of  the  first  salon^  receiving  those  who  called 
themselves  her  friends.  Dressed  in  white,  without  an 
ornament,  and  with  simply  braided  hair,  she  appeared 
calm,  and  exhibited  neither  grief  nor  pride,  nor  any 
pretence  of  joy.  No  one  saw  into  her  heart.  She 
seemed  a marble  Niobe.  The  smiles  she  gave  to  her 
intimate  friends  had  occasional  gleams  of  irony;  but 
to  all  present  she  appeared  unchanged,  and  bore  her- 
self so  truly  the  same  as  when  happiness  shed  its  halo  i 
round  her  that  the  most  unfeeling  person  in  that  crowd 


Pere  Groriot.  31] 

admired  her,  as  the  Roman  youths  admired  the  gladia. 
tors  who  smiled  as  they  died. 

“ I feared  you  might  not  come,”  said  Madame  de 
Beauseant  to  Rastignac. 

Taking  her  words  for  a reproach,  he  answered  with 
emotion,  ‘‘Madame,  I have  come  to  be  the  last  to 
leave  you.” 

“That  is  well,”  she  said,  taking  his  hand.  “You 
are  perhaps  the  only  person  present  whom  I can  trust. 
My  friend,  when  you  love,  let  it  be  a woman  whom 
pu  can  love  forever.  Never  forsake  a woman ! ” 

She  took  Rastignac’s  arm,  and  led  him  to  a sofa  in 
the  card-room. 

“ Go  for  me,”  she  said,  “ to  the  Marquis  d’Adjuda. 
Jacques,  my  footman,  will  tell  you  where  he  is  to  be 
found,  and  will  give  you  a note  for  him.  It  asks  for 
ny  letters.  He  will  give  them  up  to  you,  — I trust  he 
vill.  If  you  obtain  them,  go  up  to  my  rooms  on  your 
return ; they  will  tell  me  when  you  are  there.^^' 

She  rose  and  went  forward  to  greet  the  Duchesse 
ie  Langeais,  who  was  entering  the  salon.  Rastignac 
Yid  as  he  was  told.  He  asked  for  the  Marquis  d’Ad- 
juda at  the  Hotel  Rochefide,  where  he  was  to  pass  the 
3vening,  and  found  him.  The  Marquis  took  him  to 
lis  own  house,  and  gave  him  a casket,  saying,  “ They 
ire  all  there.”  He  seemed  to  wish  to  say  more ; per- 
haps to  question  Eugene  about  the  viscountess, 
possibly  to  own  himself  already  in  despair  about  his 
narriage  (as,  in  fact,  he  became  soon  after) ; but  a ray 
3f  pride  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  he  had  the  melancholy 
courage  to  triumph  over  his  better  feelings.  “Tell 
ler  nothing  about  me,  my  dear  Eugene,”  he  said.  He 


312 


Pere  Groriot. 


pressed  Rastignac’s  hand  with  a grasp  of  affection  anc 
regret,  and  made  a sign  that  he  should  leave  him. 

Eugene  returned  to  the  Hotel  de  Beauseant,  and 
was  shown  up  to  his  cousin’s  chamber,  which  was 
strewn  with  preparations  for  a journey.  He  sat  down 
near  the  fire  holding  the  cedar  casket,  and  fell  into  a 
state  of  the  deepest  melancholy.  For  him,  Madame 
de  Beauseant  took  on  the  proportions  of  a goddess  of 
the  Iliad. 

“ Ah ! my  friend,”  she  said,  coming  in  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  turned  and  saw  her  in  tears.  Her  eyes  were 
raised,  the  hand  upon  his  shoulder  trembled,  the  other 
was  lifted  up.  Suddenly  she  took  the  casket,  put  it 
on  the  fire,  and  watched  it  burn. 

“ They  are  dancing  — they  came  early  — Death 
may  keep  me  waiting  long.  Hush,  dear  friend,”  she 
said,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  lips  of  Rastignac  as  he 
was  about  to  answer.  “ To-night  I take  my  leave  of 
Paris  and  the  world.  At  five  o’clock  to-morrow  rnoin- 
ing  I go  to  bury  myself  in  the  solitude  of  Normandy. 
Since  three  o’clock  to-day  I have  made  my  pre})ara- 
tions,  signed  papers,  transacted  business.  I had  no 
one  I could  send  to  — ” She  paused.  “ It  was  cer- 
tain he  would  be  at  — ” She  stopped  again,  overcome 
with  emotion.  At  such  times  it  is  pain  to  speak ; 
certain  words  it  is  impossible  to  utter.  “ You  see,” 
she  resumed,  “ that  I counted  upon  you  for  this  last 
service.  I should  like  to  give  you  a remembrance, — { 
something  to  make  you  think  of  me.  I shall  often 
think  of  you;  you  have  seemed  to  me  kind  and  noble, 
fresh  and  true,  in  this  world  where  these  qualities  are 


Pere  Groriot. 


313 


^re.  See,”  she  said,  casting  a glance  about  the  room, 
here  is  the  box  in  which  I have  always  kept  my 
loves.  Every  time  that  I took  them  from  it  — for 
ball,  an  opera  — I felt  myself  beautiful,  for  I was 
appy.  I never  opened  it  that  I did  not  leave  within 
j some  smiling  thought.  Much  of  myself  is  in  that 
ox,  — much  of  a Madame  de  Beauseant,  who  is  gone 
^rever.  Accept  it.  I will  take  care  that  it  is  carried 
0 your  rooms  in  the  Rue  d’  Artois.  — Madame  de 
fucingen  looks  well  to-night.  Treat  her  tenderly, 
f we  never  meet  again,  dear  friend,  be  sure  that  I 
hall  pray  for  you,  who  have  been  very  good  to  me. 
jet  us  go  down  now  ; I would  not  have  them  think  that 
have  wept.  I have  an  eternity  before  me,  where  I 
hall  be  alone,  — where  no  one  will  ask  whether  I smile 
r weep.  Let  me  give  a last  look  round  my  chamber.” 

She  stopped,  hid  her  eyes  for  a moment  with  her 
and,  then  bathed  them  with  cold  water,  and  took  the 
tudent’s  arm.  ‘‘  Let  us  go,”  she  said. 

\ Rastignac  had  never  in  his  life  been  so  much  moved 
s he  now  was  by  the  grief  thus  nobly  kept  under  con- 
rol.  When  they  reached  the  ball-rooms,  Madame  de 
Jeauseant  made  the  circuit  of  her  guests  leaning  on 
er  cousin’s  arm,  — a last  and  thoughtful  act  of  kind- 
ess  bestowed  by  this  gracious  woman.  He  soon  saw 
he  two  sisters,  Madame  de  Restaud  and  Madame  de 
fucingen.  The  former  was  blazing  in  diamonds, — 
7hich  no  doubt  burned  her  as  they  blazed,  conscious, 
8 she  was,  that  she  was  wearing  them  for  the  last 
lime.  Though  she  bore  herself  proudly  and  was  ex- 
quisitely dressed,  she  seemed  unable  to  meet  the  eye 
[.f  her  husband.  This  sight  did  not  make  Rastignao 


314 


Pere  Goriot 


less  bitter  at  heart.  If  Vautrin  had  appeared  to  hii 
in  the  Italian  colonel,  he  now  saw  through  the  glittei  | 
ing  diamonds  of  the  two  sisters  the  neglected  death 
bed  of  Pere  Goriot. 

His  depression  was  noticed  by  Madame  de  Beauseam 
who  attributed  it  to  another  cause,  and  released  hi 
arm. 

Go  now,”  she  said ; “ I would  not  deprive  you  of 
pleasure.” 

Eugene  was  soon  claimed  by  Delphine,  charme( 
with  the  sensation  she  had  created,  and  anxious  t< 
lay  at  his  feet  the  homage  she  was  receiving  fron 
the  great  world,  in  which  she  now  might  hope  fo 
adoption. 

« What  do  you  think  of  Nasie  ?”  she  asked  him. 

She  has  discounted  even  her  father’s  death,”  h< 
answered. 

About  four  in  the  morning  the  crowd  began  t( 
thin,  and  presently  the  music  ceased.  The  Duchess* 
de  Langeais  and  Rastignac  at  last  stood  alone  in  th( 
great  ball-room.  The  viscountess,  expecting  to  fin( 
only  Rastignac,  came  in  after  taking  leave  of  Monsieu; 
de  Beauseant,  who  had  gone  to  bed,  saying,  — 

‘‘  Indeed  you  are  wrong,  my  dear,  to  shut  yoursel 
up^  — at  your  age  ! Why  not  remain  among  us  ? ” 

On  seeing  the  duchess,  Madame  de  Beauseant  startec 
and  gave  a little  cry. 

‘‘  I guess  what  you  are  about  to  do,  Clara,”  sai( 
Madame  de  Langeais.  “ You  are  going  to  leave  us 
and  you  will  never  return.  But  you  shall  not  gi 
without  hearing  what  I have  to  say.  We  must  no 
part  misunderstanding  each  other,” 


Pere  Goriot. 


315 


She  took  her  friend  by  the  arm  and  led  her  into 
smaller  salon.  There,  looking  at  her  with  tears  in 
T eyes,  she  pressed  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her 
leeks. 

“We  must  not  part  coldly,  dear,”  she  said;  “it 
Duld  make  me  too  unhappy.  You  may  rely  on  me 
you  would  upon  yourself.  You  have  been  noble 
is  evening : I feel  that  I am  not  unworthy  of  you, 
id  I wish  to  prove  it.  I have  not  always  treated 
)u  as  I should  have  done  : forgive  me,  dear.  I take 
ick  every  word  that  may  have  pained  you,  — would 
at  I could  unsay  them  altogether  ! We  are  passing 
irough  the  same  sorrow  ; I know  not  which  of  us  is 
le  most  unhappy.'  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  was  not 
3re  to-night : you  know  what  that  means.  All  who 
w you  at  this  ball,  Clara,  will  never  forget  you. 
or  myself,  — I shall  make  a last  effort : if  it  fails,  I 
lall  go  into  a convent.  And  you  ? Where  are  you 
3ing?” 

“To  Normandy,  — to  Courcelles:  to  love,  to  pray, 
11  it  shall  please  God  to  take  me  from  the  world.” 
hen,  with  a break  in  her  voice,  Madame  de  Beau^ 
hnt  called  to  Eugene,  remembering  that  he  was 
aiting  for  her  in  the  great  salon. 

He  knelt  beside  her,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed 

“ Antoinette,  adieu,”  she  said ; “ be  happy.  Mon- 
eur  de  Rastignac,  you  are  happy,  — for  you  are 
oung,  and  can  still  have  faith.  Here,  where  I re- 
ounce the  world,  I have  beside  me  — as  some  rare 
eath-beds  have  had  — two  hearts  that  feel  for  me 
ith  sacred  and  sincere  affection.” 


316 


Pere  Goriot. 


Rastignac  left  the  house  about  five  o’clock,  having 
put  Madame  de  Beauseant  into  her  travelling-carriage 
and  received  her  last  farewells  mingled  with  tears. 
He  walked  home  to  the  Maison  Vauquer  in  the  damp 
dawn  of  a cold  morning.  He  was  making  progress  in 
his  education. 

‘‘  We  can’t  save  poor  old  Goriot,”  said  Bianchon,  when 
Rastignac  entered  the  room  of  his  sick  neighbor. 

“ Bianchon,”  said  Rastignac,  looking  down  upon  the 
old  man,  who  lay  asleep,  “ keep  to  the  humble  destiny 
to  which  you  limit  your  ambition.  For  me,  — I am  in 
hell,  and  I must  stay  there.  Whatever  evil  they  may 
tell  you  of  the  world,  believe  it.  * No  Juvenal  that 
ever  lived  could  reveal  the  infamies  concealed  under 
its  gold  and  jewels.” 

Later  in  the  day  Rastignac  was  awakened  by  Bian- 
chon, who  being  obliged  to  go  out,  requested  him  to 
take  charge  of  Pere  Goriot,  who  had  grown  much 
worse  during  the  morning. 

« Poor  old  fellow!  He  can’t  live  two  days,  — per- 
haps not  more  than  six  hours,”  said  the  medical  stu- 
dent ; “ though  of  course  we  must  do  all  we  can  for 
him.  We  shall  have  to  try  certain  remedies  that  cost 
money.  You  and  I can  take  care  of  him,  — but  how 
are  we  to  pay  for  the  things  ? I have  n’t  a sou^  myself. 
I have  turned  out  his  pockets  and  searched  his  cup- 
boards— nothing!  absolutely  zero  ! I asked  him  in  a 
lucid  moment,  and  he  told  me  he  had  not  a farthing. 
How  much  have  you  ? ” 

“ I have  only  twenty  francs,”  said  Rastignac ; “ but  I 
will  go  and  play  them,  and  win  more.”  ^ 


P^re  Groriot. 


817 


Suppose  you  lose  ? ” 

“ Then  I will  ask  money  from  his  sons-in-law  and 
lis  daughters.” 

‘^And  suppose  they  won’t  give  it  to  you?”  said 
Bianchon.  ‘‘However,  the  important  thing  now  is 
lot  to  get  the  money,  but  to  wrap  the  poor  fellow  in 
lot  mustard,  from  his  feet  up  to  the  middle  of  his 
highs.  If  he  cries  out,  so  much  the  better : it  will 
ihow  there’s  a chance  for  him.  You  know  how  to 
nanage  it,  and  Christophe  will  help  you.  I will  stop 
It  the  apothecary’s  and  make  myself  responsible  for 
.he  things  we  may  want.  What  a pity  he  could  not 
lave  been  taken  to  the  hospital!  He  would  have 
deen  much  better  off  there.  Come  on,  and  let  me 
^ive  you  the  directions;  and  don’t  leave  him  till  I 
yet  back.” 

The  two  young  men  went  into  the  room  where  the 
old  man  lay.  Eugene  was  shocked  by  the  great 
change  that  a few  hours  had  made  in  the  weak, 
blanched,  and  distorted  features. 

“ Well,  Papa  1 ” he  said,  leaning  over  the  bed. 

Pere  Goriot  raised  his  dim  eyes  and  looked  atten- 
tively at  him,  but  did  not  recognize  him.  The  student 
could  not  bear  the  sight,  and  turned  away  weeping.  ^ 

“ Bianchon,”  he  said,  “ ought  there  not  to  be  curtains 
to  his  window  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no ; atmospheric  conditions  can’t  affect  him 
now.  It  would  be  a good  sign  if  he  felt  either  heat  or 
cold.  Still,  we  must  keep  up  a little  fire,  to  heat  the 
mustard  and  prepare  his  drinks.  I ’ll  send  you  some 
fagots,  which  will  do  till  we  can  buy  wood.  Last 
night  and  yesterday  I burned  up  yours,  and  the  poor 


818 


Pere  Goriot. 


old  fellow’s  bark  as  well.  It  was  so  damp,  and  the 
walls  were  dripping  with  moisture.  I could  hardly 
keep  the  floor  dry.  Christophe  swept  it  up,  but  it  is 
as  bad  as  a stable.  I have  been  burning  juniper,  the 
room  smelt  so  infernally.” 

Good  God ! ” said  Rastignac.  Think  of  his 
daughters  ! ” 

‘‘Now,  if  he  wants  anything  to  drink,  give  him 
this,”  said  the  medical  student,  showing  a large  white 
pitcher.  “ If  he  complains  of  his  stomach  being  hot 
and  hard,  call  Christophe,  and  he  will  help  you  to  give 
him  — you  know.  If  he  should  get  excited  and  insist 
on  talking,  or  be  a little  out  of  his  head,  don’t  check 
him.  It  is  not  a bad  symptom.  But  send  Christophe 
at  once  to  the  hospital ; and  either  the  surgeon  or  my 
comrade  and  I will  come  and  apply  the  actual  cautery. 
This  morning,  while  you  were  asleep,  we  had  a great 
consultation  here,  between  a pupil  of  Dr.  Gall  the 
phrenologist,  the  head-surgeon  of  the  Hotel  Dieu, 
and  our  own  chief  from  the  Cochin  Hospital.  They 
thought  there  were  some  curious  symptoms  in  the 
case ; and  we  are  going  to  make  notes  on  its  progress, 
in  hopes  of  throwing  light  on  some  important  scientific 
points.  One  of  the  doctors  thinks  that  if  the  pressure 
of  the  serum  should  be  more  upon  one  organ  than  upon 
any  other,  we  may  see  some  singular  developments. 
So  in  case  he  should  begin  to  talk,  listen  to  what  he 
says,  and  note  what  kind  of  ideas  his  mind  runs  on,  — 
whether  memory  is  all  he  has  left,  or  whether  he  still 
has  his  reasoning  powers ; whether  he  is  thinking  of 
material  things,  or  only  of  feelings;  whether  he  is 
calculating  as  to  the  future,  or  only  reverting  to  the 


Pere  G-oriot. 


dl9 

past.  In  short,  give  us  an  exact  report.  It  is  possible 
that  the  invasion  of  the  brain  may  be  complete,  all 
over  it ; in  that  case,  he  will  die  imbecile,  as  he  is  at 
this  moment.  The  course  of  an  illness  like  this  is 
often  very  singular.  If  the  rush  were  here,”  continued 
Bianchon,  putting  his  finger  upon  the  occiput,  “the 
case  might  show  some  very  remarkable  phenomena. 
The  brain  might  then  recover  some  of  its  faculties,  and 
death  would  be  slow  in  coming.  The  matter  that 
presses  on  the  brain  might  then  be  absorbed  through 
channels  which  we  could  only  discover  in  the  post- 
mortem. There  is  an  old  man  now  in  the  Hospital 
for  Incurables,  with  whom  the  matter  in  question  is 
slowly  passing  away  down  the  spinal  column.  He 
suffers  horribly,  — but  he  lives.” 

“Did  they  enjoy  themselves?”  said  Pere  Goriot, 
who  now  recognized  Eugene. 

“He  thinks  of  nothing  but  his  daughters,”  said 
Bianchon.  He  said  to  me  over  and  over  again  during 
the  night,  ‘ they  are  dancing,’  ‘ she  has  got  her  gown.’ 
He  called  them  by  their  names.  He  made  me  cry 
the  devil  take  me ! — by  his  piteous  way  of  saying 
‘Delphine!  my  little  Delphine ! Nasie!’  Upon  my 
word  of  honor,”  said  the  medical  student,  “it  was 
enough  to  make  any  fellow  shed  tears.” 

“Delphine?”  said  the  old  man.  “Is  she  there? 
Did  you  say  so?”  And  his  eyes  glanced  wildly  at 
the  walls  and  doorway. 

I ’ll  go  and  tell  Sylvie  to  get  the  mustard,  said 
Bianchon.  “It  is  a good  time  now.” 


320 


Pere  Croriot. 


XVIII. 

Rastignac  remained  alone  with  the  old  man,  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  aged 
head  now  coming  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  has  fied,”  he  said  to  him- 
self, Pere  Goriot  dies : natures  that  have  deep  affec- 
tions cannot  abide  long  in  this  evil  world.  How 
should  noble  minds  live,  allied  to  a society  that  is 
mean,  petty,  and  superficial?” 

Scenes  of  that  splendid  ball  rose  up  in  awful  con- 
trast to  this  bed  of  death.  Bianchon  reappeared. 

‘‘  Look  here,  Eugene ! ’’  he  said.  I have  just  seen 
our  surgeon-in-chief,  and  I have  run  back  to  tell  you. 
If  he  should  recover  his  reason,  if  he  should  talk, 
wrap  him  in  mustard,  from  his  neck  half-way  down 
his  loins,  and  send  somebody  at  once  for  me.” 

“ Dear  Bianchon  ! ” said  Eugene. 

‘‘  Oh,  it ’s  a case  of  great  scientific  interest ! ” 
exclaimed  the  medical  student,  with  the  fervor  of  a 
neophyte. 

^ “ Alas  ! ” cried  Eugene  ; am  I the  only  one  to  care 
for  the  poor  old  man  out  of  affection  ?” 

“ You  would  not  say  that,  if  you  had  seen  me  this 
morning,”  said  Bianchon,  not  offended.  “ The  other 
doctors  thought  of  him  only  as  a case ; but  I thought 
also  of  the  poor  patient,  my  dear  fellow.” 


Pere  Groriot. 


321 


He  went  away,  leaving  his  friend  alone  with  the  old 
man.  Eugene  dreaded  a crisis,  which  was  not  long  in 
coming. 

Ah ! is  that  you,  my  dear  boy  asked  Pere  Goriot, 
recognizing  Eugene. 

‘‘Are  you  better?”  said  the  student,  taking  his 
hand, 

“Yes;  my  head  was  in  a vice,  — but  it  is  free  now. 
Did  you  see  my  daughters  ? Will  they  be  here  soon  ? 
They  will  come  as  soon  as  they  know  that  I am  ill.  I 
wish  my  room  were  clean.  There  was  a young  man 
here  last  night  who  burned  up  all  my  fuel.” 

“I  hear  Christophe  bringing  up  some  wood  which 
that  young  man  has  sent  you.” 

“ Good,  — but  who  is  to  pay  for  the  wood  ? I have 
no  money.  I have  given  it  all  away,  — all ! I must 
come  on  charity. — Was  the  dress  of  gold  tissue 
very  handsome? — Ah,  how  I suffer!  Thank  you, 
Christophe,  my  good  man.  God  will  reward  you ; I 
have  nothing  now.” 

“ I will  pay  you  and  Sylvie  handsomely  for  all  you 
do,”  whispered  Eugene  to  the  Savoyard. 

“ My  daughters  said  they  would  be  here,  did  they 
not,  Christophe  ? Go  to  them  again ; I will  give  you 
a five-franc  piece.  Tell  them  that  I am  not  very  well ; 
that  I should  like  to  see  them,  — to  kiss  them  before  I 
die.  But  don’t  alarm  them.” 

Christophe  went  off  on  a sign  from  Rastignac. 

“ They  will  come,”  resumed  the  old  man.  “I  know 
them.  Dear,  kind  Delphine,  — if  I die,  what  sorrow  I 
shall  cause  her;  and  Nasie  too.  I don’t  want  to  die. 
To  die,  my  good  Eugene,  is  — not  to  see  them.  There, 

21 


322 


Pere  Goriot. 


I where  I am  going,  how  lonely  I shall  be ! Hell,  to  a 
father,  is  to  be  without  his  children  • I have  served 
my  apprenticeship  in  it  ever  since  they  married.  My 
heaven  was  in  our  home,  — Rue  Jussienne.  Tell  me, 
if  I go  to  heaven,  can  I come  back  in  spirit  and  hover 
near  them?  I have  heard  of  such  things;  are  they 
true  ? — I see  them  now,  as  they  were  in  the  Rue 
Jussienne.  ‘Good  morning,  Papa,’ they  used  to  say. 
I took  them  on  my  knee  and  played  with  them,  — a 
thousand  little  tricks:  they  caressed  me  so  prettily. 
We  used  to  breakfast  together,  to  dine  together.  Ah, 
I was  a father  then ! I was  happy  in  my  children. 
They  never  reasoned  then ; they  knew  nothing  of  the 
world,  — they  only  loved  me.  Oh,  my  God ! why 
could  I not  have  kept  my  little  ones  ? — I suffer  — 
my  head!  my  head  ! Forgive  me,  my  children,  but  I 
am  in  such  pain  — no,  this  must  be  anguish  ; for  you 
have  hardened  me  to  pain.  — If  I could  but  hold  them 
in  my  arms,  I should  not  suflFer  so.  Are  they  coming? 
Will  they  come  ? Christophe  is  so  stupid.  I ought  to 
ha^e  gone  myself. — You  saw  them  at  the  ball. 
They  did  not  know  that  I was  ill,  did  they?  they 
would  not  have  danced,  poor  darlings.  Oh!  I must 
- not  be  ill,  — they  need  me  : their  fortunes  are  in  dan- 
ger. Ah!  to  what  husbands  they  are  bound!  Save 
me  ! cure  me  ! — Oh,  I suffer,  suffer ! — I must  be 
cured,  for  they  need  money,  and  I know  where  to  make 
it.  I am  going  to  Odessa;  I shall  make  my  pastes 
there.  I ’m  shrewd : I shall  make  millions.  — Oh, 

. I suffer  too  much  ! — too  much  ! ” 

He  was  silent  a few  moments,  and  seemed  to  be 
rallying  all  his  strength  to  bear  the  pain. 


P^re  Goriot. 


323 


“ If  they  were  here  I would  not  complain,”  he  said. 

“ Why  should  I complain  if  they  were  here  ? ” 

He  dozed  off  lightly.  The  sleep  lasted  some  time.  [ 

Christophe  returned,  and  Eastignac,  who  thought  Pere  ^ 

Goriot  had  fallen  hack  into  a stupor,  let  him  give  an  i 

account  of  his  mission.  ■ 

“Monsieur,”  he  said,  “first  of  all,  I went  to  find 
Madame  la  comtesse;  but  I was  told  I could  not 
speak  with  her  because  she  was  settling  some  business 
with  her  husband.  I said  that  I must  see  somebody ; 
so  Monsieur  de  Restaud  came  himself,  and  he  talked 
just  this  way.  He  said  : ‘ Well,  if  Monsieur  Goriot  is 
dying,  it  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do.  I want  Madame 
de  Restaud  to  settle  some  very  important  business,  and 
she  can’t  go  till  it  is  finished.’  He  looked  very  angry, 
he  did.  I was  just  going  away  when  Madame  came 
through  a side  door  into  the  antechamber  and  said  to 
me,  ‘ Christophe,  tell  my  father  that  I am  arranging 
important  matters  with  my  husband,  and  that  I cannot 
leave  at  present ; but  as  soon  as  I can  I will  go  to 
him.’  As  for  Madame  la  baronne,  that  was  another 
matter.  I could  n’t  see  her,  and  I could  n’t  get  word 
to  her.  Her  maid  said,  ‘ Madame  did  not  get  home 
from  a ball  till  half-past  four,  and  she ’s  asleep.  If  I 
wake  her  she  will  scold  me.  I will  tell  her  that  her 
father  is  worse  when  she  rings  her  bell.  It  is  always 
soon  enough  to  tell  bad  news.’  I begged  her  and 
begged  her ; but  it  was  no  use.  Then  I asked  to  see 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  but  he  was  out.  ’ 

“ So  neither  of  his  daughters  will  come  to  him ! ” 
cried  Rastignac.  “ I will  write  to  both  of  them. 

“ Neither ! ” cried  the  old  man,  rising  in  his  bed. 


324  Pere  Groriot, 

“ They  are  busy ; they  sleep  ; they  will  not  come.  I 
knew  it.  We  must  die,  to  know  what  our  children 
are.  Friend,  never  marry;  never  have  children.  You 
give  them  life,  — they  will  give  you  death.  You  bring 
them  into  the  world,  — they  drive  you  out  of  it.  No  ! 
they  will  not  come.  I have  known  it  these  ten  years. 
I have  said  it  to  myself,  but  I dared  not  believe  it.” 

Tears  welled  up  to  the  red  rims  of  his  poor  eyes,  but 
they  did  not  fall. 

‘‘  Ah,  if  I were  rich  ; if  I had  kept  my  fortune  ; if 
I had  not  given  them  all,  all,  — they  would  be  here, 
they  would  lick  my  cheeks  with  kisses.  I should  live 
in  a mansion  ; I should  have  a fine  chamber,  servants, 
a fire.  They  would  be  all  in  tears,  husbands  and 
children.  All  would  be  mine.  — But  now,  nothing ; 
I have  nothing.  Money  gives  all  things,  even  chil- 
dren. — Oh,  my  money  ! where  is  it  ? If  I had  treas- 
ures to  bequeath,  they  would  nurse  me,  they  would 
watch  me.  I should  hear  them  ; I should  see  them. 
Ah,  my  son  ! my  only  child  ! I would  rather  be  as  I am, 
forsaken  and  destitute : if  a poor  creature  is  loved,  he 
knows  that  love  is  true.  — But,  no,  no!  if  I were  rich 
I should  see  them.  My  God ! who  knows  ? They  have 
hearts  of  stone,  — both,  both  ! I loved  them  too  well ; 
they  gave  me  no  love  in  return.  A father  should 
always  be  rich  ; he  should  curb  his  children  like  vicious 
horses.  But  I — I was  on  my  knees  to  them ! — Ah, 
cruel  hearts  ! they  fitly  crown  their  conduct  to  me  for 
ten  years  past.  If  you  knew  the  tender  care  they  took 
of  me  the  first  year  of  their  marriage  ! — oh,  I suffer 
a martyrdom  of  pain! — I had  just  given  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  to  each,  and  neither  they  nor  their 


Pere  Goriot, 


325 


husbands  could  be  rude  to  me.  They  welcomed  me. 
It  was  ‘ My  good  Papa,’  ^ My  dear  Papa.’  My  place 
was  laid  at  their  table ; I dined  with  their  husbands  ; I 
was  treated  with  respect.  Why  ? Because  I had  said 
nothing  of  my  affairs  ; because  a man  who  gives  away 
a million  and  a half  of  francs  must  have  something 
left  to  leave : he  is  a man  to  be  thought  of.  And  so 
they  paid  me  attentions,  — but  it  was  for  my  money. 
The  world  is  not  noble  : I saw  it  all.  They  took  me  ’ 
to  the  theatre  in  their  carriages  ; I went  if  I pleased  to 
their  parties.  They  called  themselves  my  daughters ; 
they  acknowledged  me  to  be  their  father.  Ah,  I 
have  my  sight ; I saw  through  it  all,  — nothing  escaped 
me ; it  struck  home  and  pierced  my  heart : I knew 
that  all  was  a pretence. — But  the  evil  was  without 
remedy.  I was  less  at  my  ease  dining  with  them  than 
at  the  table  downstairs.  I was  dull ; I could  say 
nothing.  These  fashionable  people  whispered  to  my 
sons-in  law,  ‘Who  is  that.  Monsieur?’  ‘The  papa 
with  the  money-bags.’  ‘ Ah,  the  devil ! ’ they  cried,  and 
looked  at  me  with  the  respect  due  to  wealth.  — My 
head,  my  head  ! I suffer,  Eugene  ! I suffer ! It  is  my 
death-struggle.” 

He  paused  a moment,  and  then  continued  : “ But  it 
is  nothing,  nothing  compared  to  the  first  look  Anastasie 
gave  me,  to  make  me  feel  I had  said  an  ignorant  thing 
which  mortified  her.  That  look  ! it  bled  me  from 
every  vein.  I was  ignorant ; yes,  but  one  thing  I 
knew  too  well,  — there  was  no  place  for  me  among 
the  living.  The  next  day  I went  to  Delphine  to  con- 
sole me  ; and  there  I did  an  awkward  thing  which 
, made  her  angry.  I went  nearly  out  of  my  mind  ^ 


326 


Pere  Groriot. 


for  eight  days  I was  beside  myself,  not  knowing 
what  to  do : I was  afraid  to  go  and  see  them,  lest 
they  should  speak  their  mind  to  me.  And  so  it  came 
to  pass  that  I was  turned  from  their  doors.  — My 
God ! thou  who  hast  known  the  sufferings  and  the 
misery  I have  endured  ! who  hast  counted  the  stabs 
that  I have  received  throughout  the  years  which  have 
changed  and  whitened  and  withered  me  ! why  dost 
thou  let  me  suffer  so  horribly  to-day  ? Have  I not  ex- 
piated the  crime  of  loving  them  too  well?  — they  have 
punished  it  themselves  ; they  have  tortured  me  with 
hot  irons! — Ah,  fathers  are  fools!  I loved  them 
so  well  that  I went  back  like  a gambler  to  his  play. 
My  daughters  were  my  vice,  — my  mistresses.  They 
wanted  this  and  that,  — laces,  jewels,  — their  waiting- 
women  told  me ; and  I gave  that  1 might  bi^y  a wel- 
come. But  all  the  same  they  tutored  me  about  my 
behavior  in  their  world  ^ they  let  me  see  they  were 
ashamed  of  me.” 

His  voice  sank,  then  rose  again  : ‘‘  Oh,  I suffer ! 
The  doctors ! where  are  they  ? If  they  would  split 
my  head  open  with  an  axe,  I should  suffer  less.  — 
Send  for  them,  send  for  my  daughters,  — Anastasie, 
Delphine  ! I must  see  them ! Send  the  gendarmes ; 
use  force!  Justice  is  on  my  side;  all  is  on  my  side, 
— nature,  laws!  The  nation  will  perish  if  fathers  are 
trodden  under  foot  ; society,  the  world,  — all  rest, 
upon  fatherhood  : they  will  crumble  to  nothing  if 
children  do  not  love  their  fathers.  Oh,  to  see  them! 
to  hear  them ! no  matter  what  they  say  to  me ; their 
voices  would  calm  me,  — my  Delphine  especially. 
But  when  they  come,  tell  them  not  to  look  at  me  so 


Pire  Goriot. 


32T 


joldly.  Ah,  my  friend,  my  good  Eugene!  do  you 
know  what  it  is  to  see  the  golden  glance  of  love 
change  to  leaden  gray  ? Since  that  day,  when  their 
eyes  no  longer  lightened  up  for  me,  my  life  has  been 
an  arctic  winter ; grief  has  been  my  portion  and  I 
have  eaten  my  fill  of  it.  I have  lived  only  to  be  in- 
sulted and  humiliated.  Yet  I loved  them  so  much 
that  I swallowed  the  affronts  each  shameful  pleasure 
cost  me.  A father  hiding  himself!  waiting  in  the 
streets  to  see  his  child  !—  I have  given  them  all  my 
life  : they  will  not  give  me  one  hour  to-day.  I thirst, 
I burn ! they  will  not  come  to  ease  my  death,  — for 
I am  dying ; I feel  it.  Do  they  know  what  it  is  to 
trample  on  the  corpse  of  a father  ? There  is  a God  in 
heaven  ; he  will  avenge  us,  whether  we  will  or  no. — 
Oh,  the*y  will  come!  Come,  my  darlings!  a kiss, 
a last ‘kiss!— the  viaticum  of  your  father.  1 go  to 
God,  and  I will  tell  him  you  have  been  good  to 
me  ; I will  plead  for  you,  — for  you  are  innocent ; 
yes,  Eugmie,  they  are  innocent.  The  fault  was  mine. 
I taught  them  to  tread  me  underfoot.  Divine  justice 
sees  the  truth  and  will  not  condemn  them.  I abdi- 
cated my  rights ; I neglected  my  duty ; I abased 
myself  in  their  eyes.  The  noblest  natures  would  be 
corrupted  by  such  weakness.  I am  justly  punished  : 
my  children  were  good,  and  I have  spoiled  them  , 
on  my  head  be  their  sins.  I alone  am  guilty;  but 
guilty  through  love.  — Their  voices  woirld  still  my 
heart.  — I hear  them  : they  come ! They  will 
come ; the  law  requires  them  to  see  their  father 
1 die,  — the  law  is  on  my  side.  Write  to  them  that 
I have  millions  to  bequeath.  It  is  true,  upon  my 


328 


Pere  Groriot, 


honor.  I am  going  to  Odessa  to  make  Italian  pastes 
I know  what  I am  about.  It  is  a great  project, — 
millions  to  make,  and  no  one  has  yet  thought  of  it. 
Transportation  does  not  injure  pastes  as  it  does  wheat 
and  flour.  Yes,  millions!  you  may  say  millions, — 
avarice  will  bring  them.  — Well,  even  so,  I shall  see 
them  ! — ^ I want  my  daughters  ; I made  them : they 
are  mine ! ” he  cried  wildly,  rising  in  his  bed,  his  dis- 
hevelled white  hair  giving  to  his  head  a look  of  un- 
utterable menace. 

Dear  Pere  Goriot,  lie  down  again,”  said  Eugene. 
‘‘  As  soon  as  Bianchon  comes  back  I will  go  myself  and 
fetch  them,  if  they  do  not  come  — ” 

‘‘  If  they  do  not  come ! ” sobbed  the  old  man  ; but 
I shall  be  dead  ! dead,  in  a rush  of  madness  — mad- 
ness ! I feel  it  coming.  At  this  moment  I see  my 
life.  I am  a dupe.  They  do  not  love  me,  — they 
never  loved  me.  If  they  have  not  come,  it  means 
that  they  will  not  come.  The  longer  they  delay,  the 
less  they  will  resolve  to  give  me  this  last  joy.  I know 
them.  They  have  never  divined  my  sorrows,  nor  my 
wants,  nor  my  pains : why  should  they  divine  my 
death  ? They  have  never  even  entered  into  the  secret 
of  my  tenderness  for  them. — Yes,  I see  it  all.  I 
have  so  long  plucked  out  my  entraik.  f or  their  sakes 
that  my  sacrifices  have  ceased  to  be  of  value.  Had 
they  asked  me  to  tear  out  my  eyes,  I should  have  an- 
swered, ‘ Take  them ! ’ I have  been  a fool.  They 
thought  all  fathers  were  like  me.  — But  their  own 
children  will  avenge  me.  Tell  them  it  is  for  their 
interest  to  come  here;  tell  them  to  think  of  their  own 
death-beds.  Go,  go  ! tell  them  to  come  : not  to  come 


Pere  Groriot. 


329 


s parricide  ! — they  have  committed  that  already ; 
,hey  have  given  me  a death  in  life.  — Call  out ! 
;all  out,  as  1 do,  ‘Here,  Nasie!  Here,  Delphine! 
iJome  to  your  father  who  has  been  so  good  to  you,  and 
,vho  is  dying !’ — Are  they  coming  ? No?  Am  I to 
lie  like  a dog?  — This  is  my  reward,  — abandoned, 
orsaken  ! — They  are  wicked,  they  are  criminal.  I 
late  them ! I curse  them ! I will  rise  from  my  coffin 
,0  curse  them  again!—  Friends,  am  I wrong  ? They 
io  wrong—  Oh,  what  am  I saying ?—  Is  Delplune 
here  ? Delphine  is  good  ; but  Nasie  is  so  unhappy  ! 
A.nd  their  money  ! — Oh,  my  God ! let  me  die  ! . I 
suffer  so  ! My  head  ! my  head ! Cut  it  off,  but  leave 
lie  my  heart ! ” 

“ Christophe  ! go  for  Bianchon,”  cried  Eugene, 
lorror-stricken ; “and  bring  me  a cabriolet.  I am 
^oing  to  fetch  your  daughters,  dear  Pere  Goriot.  I 
will  bring  them  to  you.” 

‘‘  Yes,  by  force,  by  force  ! Get  the  gendarmes^  the 
troops,”’ he  cried.  “ Tell  the  Government,  the  public 
prosecutor,  to  send  them.  I will  have  them  ! 

“ But  you  cursed  them.” 

“ Who  says  I did  ? ” answered  the  old  man  with 
amazement.  “You  know  I love  them  : I adore  them. 
I shall  recover  if  I see  them.  Yes,  go  for  them,  my 
good  friend,  my  dear  son.  You  have  been  very  kind 
to  me.  I wish  I could  thank  you ; but  I have  nothing 
to  give  except  the  blessing  of  a dying  man.  You  love 
your  father  and  mother,— I know  you  do,”  he  con- 
tinued, pressing  the  student’s  hand  in  his  failing  grasp. 
“ You  feel  what  it  is  to  die  as  I am  dying,  — without 
my  children.  To  be  thirsty,  and  never  to  diink,  that 


330 


Pere  Goriot, 


is  how  I have  lived  ten  years.  My  sons-in-law  have 
killed  my  daughters.  I lost  them  when  they  married 
Fathers ! petition  the  Chambers  for  a law  againsi 
marriage.  No  more  marriages  ! — they  take  our  chil- 
dren from  us,  and  we  die  desolate.  Make  a law 
for  the  death  of  fathers ! — Oh,  this  is  horrible,  hor- 
rible ! — Vengeance  ! it  is  my  sons-in-law  who  keep 
them  away  from  me  ! They  assassinate  me ! Death, 
or  my  daughters  ! — Ah,  it  is  finished ! I die  with- 
out them  ! Fifine  ! Nasie  ! Fifine  ! come  ! — 

My  good  Pere  Goriot ! be  calm,  be  still,  don’t 
think.” 

“ Not  to  see  them ! — it  is  the  agony  of  death.” 

You  shall  see  them.” 

Shall  I ? ” cried  the  old  man,  wandering.  ‘‘  See 
them  ? I am  to  see  them,  to  hear  their  voices  ? I shall 
die  happy. — Well,  yes,  I don’t  ask  to  live;  I don’t 
wish  it ; my  troubles  are  too  heavy.  But,  oh,  to  see 
them  ! to  touch  their  pretty  dresses  ! — it  isn’t  much  — 
to  smell  the  fragrance  — ah  ! put  my  hands  upon  their 
hair,  will  — ” 

He  fell  back  heavily  on  his  pillow,  felled  like  an  ox. 
His  fingers  wandered  over  the  coverlet  as  if  searching 
for  his  daughters’  hair.  “ I bless  them,”  he  said,  mak- 
ing an  efibrt.  ‘‘  I bless  — ” 

He  sank  unconscious.  At  this  moment  Bianchon 
came  in. 

I met  Christophe,”  he  said.  “ He  is  bringing  yoil' 
a carriage.”  Then  he  looked  at  the  sick  man  and 
lifted  his  eye-lids.  Both  saw  that  the  power  of  sight 
had  gone. 

“ He  won’t  come  out  of  this ; that  is,  I think  not,” 


331 


Pire  Goriot. 

aid  Biaiichon.  He  felt  the  pulse,  and  laid  his  hand 
ipon  the  old  man’s  heart.  “ The  machine  is  still  run- 
ling,  more ’s  the  pity.  He  had  better  die.” 
i “ Yes,”  said  Rastignac. 

“ What ’s  the  matter  with  you  ? You  are  as  pale  as 
leath.” 

“Bianchon!  I have  been  listening  to  such  cries, 
mch  anguish!  There  is  a God.  Oh,  yes,  there  is  a 
Glod  ! and  he  has  prepared  for  us  a better  world,  or  this 
sarth  would  be  foolishness.  If  it  were  not  so  tragic 
[ could  weep ; my  whole  being  is  wrenched.” 

“Dear  fellow! — We  shall  want  several  things; 

where  can  we  get  the  money  ? ” 

Rastignac  drew  out  his  watch.  “ Here,  pawn  this 
at  once.  I can’t  wait  a moment.  I hear  Christoph  e. 
I have  not  a farthing;  and  shall  have  to  pay  the 
coachman  when  I get  back.” 


332 


Pere  GrorioU 


XIX. 

Rastignac  ran  downstairs  and  started  for  the  Rue 
du  Helder  to  find  Madame  de  Restaud.  As  he  drove 
through  the  streets,  his  imagination,  excited  by  the 
horrors  he  had  witnessed,  increased  his  indignation. 
When  he  reached  the  antechamber  and  asked  for 
Madame  de  Restaud,  the  servants  told  him  she  could 
see  no  one. 

‘‘But,”  he  said  to  the  footman,  “I  come  from  her 
father,  who  is  dying.” 

“ Monsieur,  we  have  the  strictest  orders  from  Mon- 
sieur le  comte  — ” 

“ If  Monsieur  de  Restaud  is  at  home,  tell  him  the 
condition  of  his  father-in-law,  and  say  that  I beg  to 
see  him  immediately.” 

Eugene  waited  a long  time.  “ He  may  be  dying  at 
this  moment,”  he  thought. 

The  footman  came  back  and  showed  him  into  the 
outer  salon^  where  Monsieur  de  Restaud  received  him 
standing,  without  asking  him  to  sit  down,  and  with 
his  back  to  a fire-place  where  there  was  no  fire 

“ Monsieur  le  comte,”  said  Rastignac,  “ your  father-  i 
in-law  is  dying  at  this  moment  in  a wretched  lodging, 
without  a farthing  even  to  buy  fuel.  He  is  about  to 
draw  his  last  breath,  and  is  asking  for  his  daughter.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  Comte  de  Restaud,  coldly, 

“ you  are  doubtless  aware  that  I have  very  little 


Pere  GiorioL 


S33 


ffection  for  Monsieur  Goriot.  He  has  compromised 
imself  oy  unseemly  transactions  with  Madame  de 
lestaud ; he  is  the  author  of  the  chief  misfortunes  of 
iiy  life ; in  him  I see  the  enemy  of  my  domestic  hap- 
liness.  I cannot  care  whether  he  lives  or  dies  ; to 
ae  it  is  perfectly  indifferent.  Such  are  my  feelings 
loncerning  him.  The  world  may  blame  me,  — I de- 
pise  its  opinion ; I have  matters  of  far  more  impor- 
ance  to  think  of  than  the  opinion  of  fools  or  third 
)arties.  As  for  Madame  de  Eestaud,  she  is  in  no  con- 
lition  to  leave  her  own  house ; nor  do  I wish  her  to 
eave  it.  You  may  tell  her  father  that  as  soon  as  she 
las  fulfilled  the  duty  she  owes  to  me  and  to  my  child, 
he  may  go  to  him.  If  she  loves  her  father,  she  can 
)e  free  to  go  in  a few  moments.” 

^‘Monsieur  le  comte,  it  is  not  for  me  to  pass  judg- 
nent  on  your  conduct ; you  have  the  right  to  deal  with 
,rour  wife  as  you  think  best : but  I am  sure  that  I can 
•ely  upon  your  word.  Will  you  promise  to  tell  her 
kat  her  father  cannot  live  another  day,  and  that  he 
las  already  cursed  her  because  she  has  not  come  to 
lim  ? ” 

Tell  her  yourself,”  said  Monsieur  de  Restaud, 
struck  by  the  tone  of  indignation  with  which  Ras- 
ngnac  uttered  these  words. 

Eugene  followed  the  count  into  the  inner  room 
vhere  Madame  de  Restaud  usually  sat.  They  found 
ler  bathed  in  tears,  lying  back  in  her  chair  like  a 
voman  who  longed  to  die.  Eugene  pitied  her.  Before 
loticing  him,  she  turned  a timid  look  upon  her  hus- 
band,— a look  which  showed  how  completely  she  was 
i3rostrated,  mentally  and  physically,  by  the  power  he 


334 


Pere  Groriot 


now  wielded  over  her.  The  count  made  a sign  with  hi; 
head,  which  she  took  as  a permission  to  speak. 

‘‘  Monsieur,  I have  heard  all,”  she  said.  Tell  mj 
father  that  if  he  knew  my  situation  he  would  forgive 
me.  I did  not  expect  this  additional  misery : it  u 
more  than  T have  strength  to  bear.  But  I will  resist 
to  the  last,”  she  continued,  turning  to  her  husband : 
am  a mother.  Tell  my  father  I am  not  to  blame,  in 
spite  of  appearances,”  she  added,  with  an  accent  of 
despair. 

Rastignac  bowed  to  husband  and  wife.  He  could 
guess  through  what  a trial  the  woman  was  passing, 
and  he  went  away  silenced.  From  Monsieur  de  Res- 
taud’s  tone,  he  saw  that  remonstrances  were  useless ; 
and  he  judged  that  Anastasie  herself  would  not  dare 
to  make  them. 

He  hastened  to  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

‘‘  I am  quite  unwell,  my  poor  friend,”  she  said,  as 
he  entered.  I took  cold  coming  away  from  the  ball, 
and  I am  afraid  it  may  settle  on  my  lungs.  I am  ex- 
pecting the  doctor  — ” 

“ If  death  were  on  your  lips,”  said  Eugene,  interrupt- 
ing her,  “you  should  drag  yourself  to  your  father’s 
bedside.  He  is  dying,  — and  he  calls  for  you.  If  you 
heard  but  the  least  of  his  cries,  you  would  not  fanc}' 
yourself  ill.” 

“Eugene,  perhaps  my  father  is  not  as  ill  as  you 
think.  But  I should  be  in  despair  if  you  thought  me 
to  blame.  I will  try  to  please  you.  He,  I know, 
would  be  filled  with  grief  if  my  illness  were  made 
serious  by  the  imprudence  of  going  out  to-day.  But 
I will  go,  after  I have  seen  the  doctor.  — Ah ! what 


Fere  Groriot.  335 

ive  you  done  with  your  watch  ? ” she  cried,  observ« 
g that  he  did  not  wear  the  chain. 

Eugene  hesitated. 

Eugene  ! Eugene  ! if  you  have  sold  it,  or  lost  it  — 
1 ! it  would  be  very  — ” 

Rastignac  leaned  over  her  and  said,  in  a low  voice, 
Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ? Well,  know  it,  then  ! 
our  father  has  not  money  to  buy  the  winding-sheet 
\ which  they  will  wrap  him  this  evening.  Your 
atch  is  in  pawn:  I had  nothing  else. 

Delphine  sprang  up  and  ran  to  her  writing-table, 
■om  which  she  took  her  purse  and  gave  it  to  Ras- 
gnac.  She  rang  her  bell  and  cried,  I am  coming, 
am  coming,  Eugene  ! Let  me  get  dressed.  Oh,  I 
lould  be  a monster  not  to  go  ! Go  back ; I will  be 
lere  before  you.  Therese,”  she  said,  turning  to  her 
aiting-maid,  ‘‘ask  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  to  come  up 
b once  and  speak  to  me.’’ 

Eugene,  glad  to  comfort  the  dying  man  with  the 
ews  that  one  of  his  daughters  was  coming,  reached 
le  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve  almost  in  good  spirits, 
^hen  he  paid  his  coachman,  he  discovered  that  the 
urse  of  this  wealthy,  elegant,  and  envied  woman  con- 
lined  sixty-six  francs ! Pere  Goriot,  supported  by 
iianchon,  was  being  operated  upon  by  the  hospital 
irgeon,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  chief  phy- 
cian.  They  were  applying  the  actual  cautery,  — 
last  resource  of  science,  but  in  this  case  wholly 
lieffectual. 

i “ Can  you  feel  it  ? ” asked  the  physician. 

■ Pere  Goriot,  seeing  the  student  enter  the  room,  cried 
ut,  “ Are  they  coming  ? ” 


336  Pere  Goriot, 

“ He  may  pull  through,"’  said  the  surgeon.  B 
can  speak.” 

“Yes,”  replied  Eugene  ; “Delphine  is  on  her  way.” 

“ It  won’t  do,”  said  Bianchon  ; “ he  is  only  talking  ( 
his  daughters.  He  cries  after  them  as  a man  impale 
cries,  they  say,  for  water.” 

“We  may  as  well  give  it  up,”  said  the  physician  t 
the  surgeon.  “ There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done  ; w 
cannot  save  him.” 

Bianchon  and  the  surgeon  replaced  the  dying  ma 
upon  his  wretched  bed. 

“ You  had  better  change  the  linen,”  said  the  phys: 
cian.  “ There  i-s  no  hope  ; but  something  is  alwaj 
due  to  human  nature.  I will  come  back,  Bianchon, 
he  said  to  his  pupil.  “ If  he  seems  to  suffer,  put  lai 
danum  on  the  diaphragm.” 

The  surgeon  and  physician  went  away. 

“ Come,  Eugene,  courage,  my  lad  ! ” said  Biancho 
when  they  were  left  alone.  “We  must  put  on  a clea 
shirt,  and  change  the  bed.  Go  down  and  ask  Sylvie  t 
bring  up  some  sheets  and  stop  and  help  us.” 

Eugene  went  down  and  found  Madame  Vauque 
helping  Sylvie  to  set  the  dinner-table.  At  his  firs 
words  the  widow  came  up  to  him  with  the  sour  civilit; 
of  a shopkeeper  doubtful  about  the  payment,  yet  un 
willing  to  lose  a customer. 

“ My  dear  Monsieur  Eugene,”  she  said,  “ you  kno\ 
as  well  as  I do  that  Pere  Goriot  has  not  a sou^  T« 
furnish  sheets  to  a man  just  giving  up  the  ghost  i 
throwing  them  away,  — one  of  them  at  least  must  b' 
sacrificed  for  the  winding-sheet.  Besides  this,  you  ow< 
me  one  hundred  and  forty-four  francs  ; add  forty  franc 


337 


- P^re  Goriot. 

51-  the  sheets  and  some  other  little  things,  including  the 
andles,  — which  Sylvie  will  give  you,  — and  it  mounts 
p to  not  less  than  two  hundred  francs ; a sum  which  a 
oor  widow  like  me  cannot  afford  to  lose.  Come  ! do 
le  justice.  Monsieur  Eugene.  I have  lost  enough  the 
ist  few  days  since  ill-luck  got  hold  of  me.  I would 
lave  given  five  louis  if  the  old  man  had  gone  away 
fhen  he  gave  notice.  My  lodgers  don’t  like  this  sort 
.f  thing.  It  would  not  take  much  to  make  me  even 
low  send  him  off  to  the  hospital.  Put  yourself  in  my 
ilace.  My  establishment  is  the  chief  thing  to  me,  of 
jourse.  It  is  my  support,  my  all.” 

Eugene  ran  up  swiftly  to  P^re  Goriot’s  chamber. 

‘ The  money  for  the  watch,  Bianchon,  where  is  it . 

“On  the  table.  You  will  find  three  hundred  and 
fixty-odd  francs  left.  I have  paid  all  we  owe.  The 
pawn  ticket  is  under  the  money. 

“ Here  Madame,”  said  Rastignac,  rushing  headlong 
down  the  staircase,  “ let  us  settle  our  accounts.  Mon- 
sieur Goriot  will  not  long  be  with  you,  and  I 

“ Yes,  he  will  go  out  feet  foremost,  poor  old  man, 
she  said,  counting  up  her  two  hundred  francs  with  an 
air  of  complacent  melancholy. 

“ Let  us  make  an  end  of  this,”  cried  Rastignac. 

“ Sylvie,  give  out  the  sheets,  and  go  and  help  the 
gentlemen  upstairs.  You  will  not  forget  Sylvie,” 
whispered  Madame  Vauquer  to  Eugene.  “She  has 
sat  up  two  nights,  you  know.” 

As  soon  as  Eugene’s  back  was  turned,  the  old  woman 
ran  after  her  cook.  “ Take  the  sheets  that  have  been 
turned,  Sylvie,  — No.  7.  Good  enough  for  a corpse, 
she  whispered 


22 


338 


Pere  Goriot. 


Eugene  being  already  half  way  up  the  stairs  did  n( 
hear  his  landlady’s  words. 

‘‘Now,  then,”  said  Bianchon,  “we  will  change  hi 
shirt.  Hold  him  up.” 

Eugene  went  to  the  head  of  the  bed  and  supportei 
Pere  Goriot,  while  Bianchon  drew  off  his  shirt.  Th 
old  man  made  a gesture  as  if  to  grasp  something  oi 
his  breast,  uttering  plaintive  inarticulate  cries,  like  ai 
animal  in  pain. 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” said  Bianchon,  “ he  wants  a little  hair 
chain  and  locket  which  we  took  off  when  we  appliec 
the  fire.  Poor  old  man ! Put  it  around  his  necl 
again;  it  is  on  the  chimney-piece.” 

Eugmie  took  up  the  little  chain,  made  of  a tress  oi 
chestnut  hair,  which  was  doubtless  Madame  Goriot’s. 
Attached  to  it  was  a locket,  with  the  names  “ Anas- 
tasie  ” on  one  side  and  “ Delphine  ” on  the  other ; fit 
emblem  of  his  constant  heart,  it  lay  upon  that  heart 
continually.  The  curls  in  the  locket  were  so  fine  that 
they  must  have  been  cut  off  when  the  little  girls  were 
infants.  As  Eugene  replaced  the  trinket  on  his  breast 
the  old  man  gave  a long-drawn  sigh  of  relief,  heart- 
breaking to  hear.  It  was  well-nigh  the  final  echo  of  his 
living  emotions,  as  they  drew  in  to  the  unknown  centre 
from  which  spring  and  to  which  return  our  human  sym- 
pathies. His  face,  much  distorted,  wore  an  unnatural 
expression  of  joy.  The  two  young  men,  deeply  moved 
by  this  sudden  explosion  of  a feeling  which  had  out- 
lived the  power  of  thought,  let  fall  hot  tears,  which 
touched  the  face  of  the  dying  man.  He  uttered  a 
piercing  cry  of  pleasure. 

“ Nasie  ! Fifine  ! ” he  exclaimed- 


Pere  Goriot. 


339 


« He  is  still  living,”  said  Bianchon. 

« What’s  the  use  of  that?”  said  Sylvie. 

“ To  suffer,”  replied  Rastignac. 

Making  Eugene  a sign  to  do  as  he  did,  Bianchon 
nelt  down  beside  the  bed  to  pass  his  arms  beneath  the 
ick  man’s  knees,  while  Rastignac  on  the  other  side  did 
he  same,  supporting  the  shoulders.  Sylvie  stood  by 
0 draw  the  sheet  as  the  weight  was  raised,  and  slip 
hrough  one  of  those  she  had  brought  up  with  her. 
lisled  no  doubt  by  the  tears  that  he  had  felt  upon  his 
ace,  Pere  Goriot  used  his  last  strength  to  stretch  out 
lis  hands  on  either  side  of  the  bed  and  grasped  the 
lair  of  the  two  students,  muttering  feebly,  “ Ah,  my 

ingels  ! ” two  words  sighed  forth  by  the  spirit  as  it 

,ook  its  flight. 

“ Poor,  dear  man ! ” said  Sylvie,  much  affected  by  this 
ixclamation,  — the  utterance  of  the  ever-dominant  pas- 
;ion  drawn  forth  by  an  involuntary  deception.  The 
ast  conscious  sigh  of  the  unhappy  father  was  a sigh  of 
oy.  It  expressed  his  whole  life,  — delusion  ; deluded 
3vehiWffeafh  t laid  him  gently  back  upon  the 

wretched  pallet,  and  from  that  moment  his  face  showed 
only  fluctuations  between  life  and  death,  — the  move- 
ments of  the  machinery  no  longer  guided  by  the  brain, 
in  which  alone  resides  the  consciousness  of  human  joy 
and  misery. 

« He  will  lie  as  he  is  for  some  hours,  and  die  so  qui- 
etly that  no  one  will  perceive  when  the  end  comes. 
There  will  be  no  rattle  in  his  throat.  His  brain  has 
ceased  to  act,”  said  Bianchon. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  rapid  footsteps  of  a 
young  woman. 


340  Pere  Goriot. 

“It  is  Delphine/’  said  Rastignac;  “she  comes  to 
late.” 

It  was  not  Delphine,  but  Tlierese,  her  waiting 
woman. 

“Monsieur  Eugene,’’  she  said,  “ there  has  been  aj 
angry  scene  between  Monsieur  and  Madame,  abou 
some  money  Madame  asked  for,  for  her  father.  Sh 
fainted  away ; the  doctor  came  and  bled  her.  She  kep 
saying,  ‘ Papa  is  dying,  I must  go  to  him ! ’ Her  crie 
were  enough  to  break  one’s  heart.” 

“ That  will  do,  Therese.  Her  coming  would  be  sn 
perfluous  now.  Monsieur  Goriot  has  lost  conscious 
ness.” 

“ Poor,  dear  Monsieur ! is  he  so  bad  as  that  ? ” sai( 
Therese. 

“ You  don’t  want  me  any  more;  I must  go  and  se< 
after  my  dinner.  It  is  half-past  five  now,”  said  Sylvie 
who  as  she  went  downstairs  nearly  fell  over  Madaim 
de  Restaud. 

The  countess  glided  into  the  death-chamber  like  ai 
apparition.  She  gazed  at  the  bed  by  the  light  of  th( 
one  poor  candle,  and  shed  tears  as  she  looked  dowr 
upon  the  face  of  her  dying  father,  where  the  last  dicker- 
ings  of  life  still  quivefed.  Bianchon  left  the  room,  oul 
of  respect  for  her  feelings. 

“ I could  not  escape  soon  enough,”  she  said  tc 
Rastignac. 

The  student  sadly  shook  his  head  to  imply  that  this 
was  true.  Madame  de  Restaud  took  her  father’s  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

“ Forgive  me,  oh,  my  Father ! ” she  exclaimed.  “ You 
used  to  say  that  my  voice  would  call  you  from  the 


PeTe  CioTiot. 


341 


mb.  Come  back  to  life  one  moment  to  bless  your 
pentant  daughter ! Oh,  hear  me ! — This  is  dread- 
1!  Your  blessing  is  the  only  one  I can  hope  for 
^re  below.  All  hate  me;  you  alone  in  this  wicle 

orld  can  love  me.  My  children  will  abhor  me  Oh, 

ke  me  with  you ! 1 will  love  you ; I will  wait  upon 

3u  — He  does  not  hear  me.  I am  mad  — 

She  fell  upon  her  knees,  gazing  at  the  wreck  before 

or 

«*Mv  cup  of  misery  is  full,”  she  cried,  looking  up  at 
luaene.  “ Monsieur  de  Trailles  has  gone, leaving  enor- 
lous  debts  behind  him,  — and  I now  know  that  he 
deceived  me  all  along.  My  husband  can  never  forgive 
ae ; I have  made  over  to  him  the  disposal  of  my  for- 
une;  my  children  are  destitute.  Alas!  for  what,  for 
vhom,  have  I betrayed  the  only  faithful  heart  that 
oved  me?  I did  not  understand  him ; I cast  him  ott ; 

[ did  so  many  cruel  things  to  him  — Oh,  wicked 

ivoman  that  I am!” 

« He  knew  it,”  said  Rastignac. 

At  that  moment  Phre  Goriot  opened  his  eyes;  but 
the  movement  was  only  convulsive  and  involuntary. 
The  gesture  by  which  his  daughter  showed  her  hope 
of  recognition  was  not  less  terrible  to  witness  than  his 

sheened.  .-Ah,™!"  she 

added  after  a pause,  sitting  down  beside  the  bed.  ^ 

As  she  expressed  the  wish  to  watch  him,  Eugene 
went  downstairs  to  take  some  food.  The  guests 
were  all  assembled  in  the  salon. 

‘‘Well,”  said  the  painter,  ‘‘so  we  are  to  nave  a li  o 

death-orama  upstairs  ? ” 


842 


P^re  Goriot. 


“ Charles,”  said  Eugene,  “ choose  some  less  melan 
choly  subject  to  joke  upon.” 

“ Dear  me ! is  it  forbidden  to  laugh  under  this  roof 
What  does  it  matter?  Bianchon  says  the  old  fellow 
has  lost  his  senses.” 

“ If  that  is  so,”  said  the  employe,  “ he  will  die  as  he 
lived.” 

“ My  father  is  dead!  ” shrieked  Madame  de  Restaud. 
Rastignac  and  Bianchon  ran  upstairs,  where  they  found 
her  fainting  on  the  floor.  After  bringing  her  back 
to  consciousness,  Eugene  took  her  down  to  the  hack- 
ney  coach  in  which  she  had  come,  and  consigned  her 
to  Therese,  with  orders  to  take  her  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen. 

“ Yes,  he  is  quite  dead,”  said  Bianchon,  coming  down 
again. 

“ Come,  gentlemen,  sit  down  to  table,”  said  Madame 
Vauquer.  “ The  soup  is  getting  cold.” 

The  two  students  took  their  places  by  each  other. 

“ W^hat  is  to  be  done  next  ? ” said  Eugene  to 
Bianchon. 

“I  have  closed  his  eyes,  and  composed  him  properly. 
When  the  doctor  from  the  Mayor’s  ofBce  has  certified 
to  the  death,  which  we  will  report  at  once,  he  will  be 
sewn  up  in  a sheet  and  buried.  "Where  do  you  mean 
to  put  him  ? ” 

“ He  will  never  sniff  his  bread  any  more,  like  this,” 
said  one  of  the  guests,  mimicking  the  trick  of  the  poor 
old  man. 

“ The  devil ! gentlemen,”  cried  the  tutor,  “ do  leave 
Pere  Goriot  alone.  W^e  don’t  want  any  more  of  him. 
You  have  served  him  up  with  every  kind  of  sauce  for 


P^re  Qoriot. 


343 


e last  hour.  One  of  the  privileges  of  this  good  city 
Paris  is  that  you  can  come  into  the  world,  live  in 
and  go  out  of  it,  and  nobody  will  pay  any  atten- 
)n  to  you.  Avail  yourselves  of  the  advantages  of 
rilization.  According  to  statistics,  sixty  persons 
,ve  died  in  Paris  this  very  day.  Are  we  called 
)on  to  weep  over  Parisian  hecatombs?  If  Pere 
jriot  is  dead,  so  much  the  better  for  him.  If  you 
Bre  all  so  fond  of  him,  you  can  go  and  keep  watch 
■side  him ; but  leave  the  rest  of  us  to  eat  our  dinners 
peace.” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  said  the  widow.  “ It  is  much  better  for 
m that  he  is  dead.  It  seems  the  poor  man  has  had 
enty  of  troubles  all  his  life  long.” 

This  was  the  only  funeral  oration  pronounced  over  a . — 
iing  who  in  the  eyes  of  Rastignac  was  the  incarna-  j 
an  of  Fatherhood.  . ^ 

The  fifteen  guests  began  to  talk  about  other  things, 
/■fien  Eugene  and  Bianchon  had  finished  eating,  the 
alter  of  knives  and  forks,  the  laughter,  the  jests,  the 
avious  expressions  on  the  callous,  greedy  faces  I’ound 
le  table  struck  them  with  horror.  They  went  in 
iarch  of  a priest  to  watch  and  pray  during  the  night 
eside  the  dead.  It  was  necessary  to  calculate  the 
ist  duties  they  could  render  to  their  poor  old  friend 
y the  slender  sum  they  had  to  spend.  About  nine 
’clock  in  the  evening  the  body  was  placed  on  a 
ier  between  two  tallow  candles,  in  the  centre  of  the 
rretched  chamber ; and  a priest  came  to  watch  beside 
t.  Before  going  to  bed,  Rastignac,  who  had  obtained 
iiformation  from  the  ecclesiastic  as  to  burial  fees  and 
he  cost  of  funeral  rites,  wrote  to  the  Baron  de  Nucin- 


844 


Pere  Goriot. 


gen  and  the  Comte  de  Restaud,  asking  them  to  sen 
their  men  of  business  with  orders  to  provide  for 
suitable  interment.  He  sent  Christophe  with  thes 
notes,  and  then  went  to  his  own  bed  and  slept,  wor; 
out  with  fatigue. 

The  next  morning  Bianchon  and  Rastignac  wer 
forced  to  go  themselves  and  declare  the  death,  whic. 
was  certified  to  officially  by  midday.  Two  hour 
passed ; neither  of  the  sons-in-law  sent  money,  no 
did  any  one  appear  who  was  authorized  to  act  in  thei 
names.  Rastignac  had  already  been  obliged  to  pa; 
the  priest,  and  Sylvie  having  demanded  ten  francs  fo 
sewing  the  corpse  in  its  winding-sheet,  Rastignac  am 
Bianchon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  the  relative 
would  do  nothing,  they  had  barely  enough  money  t< 
provide  the  cheapest  funeral.  The  medical  studen 
undertook  to  place  the  body  himself  in  a pauper’s  coJ 
fin,  which  he  sent  from  the  hospital,  where  he  coul( 
buy  it  for  less  cost  than  elsewhere. 

‘^Play  a trick  upon  those  people,  — they  deserw 
it,”  he  said  to  Rastignac.  Buy  a grave  for  five 
years  in  Pere-La-Chaise,  and  order  a third-class  fu 
neral  service  at  the  Church,  and  from  the  Pompes 
Funebres,  and  send  the  bills  to  the  family.  If  th( 
sons-in-law  and  the  daughters  don’t  choose  to  pay  it 
we  will  have  engraved  upon  his  tombstone*  ^ Here  liei 
Monsieur  Goriot,  father  of  the  Corntesse  de  Restauc 
and  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen.  Buried  at  the  expense 
of  two  students.’  ” 

Eugene  did  not  take  his  friend’s  advice  until  h( 
had  been,  but  in  vain,  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Nucingen’s  house  and  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  d( 


Pere  Groriot.  ^45 

Restaud’s.  He  could  not  gain  admittance.  Both 
porters  had  strict  orders. 

“ Monsieur  and  Madame,”  they  said,  “ receive  no 
one  : they  are  in  deep  affliction,  owing  to  the  death  of 

their  father.”  _ ■ ■ 

Eugene  had  had  enough  experience  of  Parisian  life 
to  know  that  it  was  useless  to  persist  further.  He  was 
greatly  wounded  when  he  found  that  he  could  not  see 
Delphine.  “ Sell  a necklace,”  he  wrote  in  the  porter’s 
lodge,  “ that  your  father  may  be  decently  consigned  to 
his  last  resting-place.” 

He  sealed  the  note,  and  begged  the  porter  to  give  it 
to  Therese  for  her  mistress;  but  the  man  gave  it  to 
the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  who  put  it  in  the  fire. 

Having  made  all  his  arrangements,  Eugene  came 
back  a little  after  three  o’clock  to  the  Maison  Vauquer, 
and  could  not  help  shedding  tears  when  he  saw  the 
bier  at  the  iron  gate,  scantily  covered  with  black  cloth 
and  placed  upon  two  chairs  in  the  lonely  street.  An 
old  holy-water  .sprinkler,  which  no  hand  had  yet 
touched,  lay  beside  it  in  a plated  copper  vessel  full 
of  holy  water.  The  gateway  was  not  even  hung 
with  black.  It  was  a pauper  funeral,  — no  pomp,  no 
attendants,  no  friends,  no  relatives.  Bianchon,  whose 
duties  kept  him  at  the  Hospital,  had  left  a note  for 
Rastignac  to  let  him  know  what  arrangements  he  had 
made  for  the  Church  services.  He  told  him  that  a 
Mass  could  not  be  had  for  the  sum  they  were  able  to 
pay ; that  they  must  put  up  with  a less  costly  service 
at  vespers;  and  that  he  had  sent  Christophe  to  notify 
the  Pompes-Funebre^ 


346 


Pere  Qoriot. 


As  Rastignac  finished  reading  Bianchon’s  scrawl,  he 
saw  in  Madame  Vauquer’s  hands  the  gold  locket  which 
had  lain  upon  the  old  man’s  heart. 

“ How  dared  you  take  that  ? ” he  said  to  her. 

“ Bless  me ! ” cried  Sylvie,  “ did  you  mean  to  bury 
him  with  that  ? Why,  it ’s  gold.” 

“ Yes,”  answered  Eugene  indignantly.  “ Let  him  at 
least  take  with  him  to  the  grave  the  only  thing  that 
represents  his  daughters.” 

When  the  hearse  came,  Eugene  ordered  the  coffin 
to  be  taken  back  into  the  house,  where  he  unscrewed 
the  nails,  and  reverently  placed  upon  the  old  man’s 
heart  that  relic  of  the  days  when  Delphine  and  Anas- 
tasie  had  been  young  and  pure,  and  “ did  not  reason,” 
as  he  had  said  in  his  dying  moments. 

Rastignac  and  Christophe  and  two  of  the  under- 
taker’s men  were  all  who  accompanied  the  hearse 
which  carried  the  poor  man  to  the  nearest  church, 
Saint-Etienne  du  Mont,  not  far  from  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve.  There  the  corpse  was  placed  in 
a little  chapel,  low  and  dark,  round  which  the  student 
looked  in  vain  for  the  daughters  of  Pere  Goriot  or  their 
husbands.  He  was  alone  with  Christophe,  who  thought 
himself  under  an  obligation  to  pay  the  last  duties  to  a 
man  who  had  been  the  means  of  procuring  for  him 
many  large  pour-boires.  While  waiting  for  the  two 
officiating  priests,  the  choir-boy,  and  the  beadle,  Rastig- 
nac pressed  Christophe’s  hand,  but  could  not  speak. 

“Yes,  Monsieur  Eugene,”  said  Christophe,  “he  was 
a good  and  honest  man;  he  never  said  an  angiy  word; 
he  never  tried  to  injure  any  one ; he  never  did  an  un- 
kind thing.” 


Pere  Goriot. 


347 


The  two  priests,  the  acolyte,  and  the  beadle  came 
and  gave  all  that  could  be  had  for  seventy  francs  in  an 
epoch  when  religion  is  too  poor  to  pray  for  nothing. 
The  clergy  sang  a psalm,  the  Libera,  and  the  Pe 

\profundis.  The  service  lasted  twenty  minutes.  There 
was  only  one  mourning-coach,  intended  for  the  priest 
and  the  choir-boy ; but  they  allowed  Rastignac  and 
Christophe  to  go  with  them. 

“ As  there  is  no  procession,”  said  the  priest,  “ we  can 
go  fast,  so  as  not  to  be  late.  It  is  half-past  five  now.” 

However,  just  as  the  coffin  was  replaced  in  the 
hearse  two  carriages  with  armorial  bearings,  but  empty 
(those  of  the  Comte  de  Restaud  and  the  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen),  made  their  appearance  and  followed  the  funeral 
to  Pere-La-Chaise.  At  six  o’clock  the  body  of  Pere 
Goriot  was  lowered  into  its  grave,  round  which  stood 
the  footmen  of  his  daughters,  who  disappeared  with 
the  clergy  as  soon  as  a short  prayer  — all  that  could 
be  given  for  the  student’s  money  — was  over.  When 
the  two  grave-diggers  had  thrown  a few  shovelsful  of 
earth  upon  the  coffin  they  came  out  of  the  grave,  and 
turning  to  Rastignac  asked  him  for  their  drink-money. 
Eugene  felt  in  his  pockets,  but  nothing  was  there.  He 
had  to  borrow  a franc  from  Christophe.  This  cir- 
cumstance, trivial  in  itself,  produced  in  his  mind  a 
horrible  depression.  Day  was  departing;  a damp  mist 
irritated  his  nerves.  He  looked  down  into  the  grave 
and  buried  there  the  last  tear  of  his  young  manhood,  — 
a last  tear  springing  from  the  sacred  emotions  of  a pure 
heart,  which  from  the  earth  on  which  it  fell  exhaled  to 
heaven.  He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  gazing  upward 
at  the  clouds.  Seeing  him  thus,  Christophe  went  away. 


348 


Pere  Groriot. 


Left  alone,  Rastignac  walked  a few  steps  until  hej 
reached  the  highest  part  of  the  cemetery,  and  saw! 
Paris  as  it  lies  along  the  winding  shores  of  the  Seine.  | 
Lights  were  beginning  to  glitter  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness. His  eyes  turned  eagerly  to  the  space  between 
the  column  of  the  Place  Vendome  and  the  dome  of  the 
Invalides.  There  lived  that  world  of  fashion  which 
it  had  been  his  dream  to  enter.  He  gave  the  hum- 
ming hive  a look  that  seemed  to  suck  it  of  its  honey, 
and  said  aloud  the  defj'ing  words, — 

Between  us  two,  henceforth  I ” 

As  the  first  act  of  this  challenge  to  society,  Rastignac 
went  to  dine  with  Madame  de  Nucingen. 


THE  MAERIAGE  CONTRACT. 


TO  EOSSINI. 


1. 

PRO  AND  CON. 

Monsieur  de  Maneryii.le,  the  father,  was  a worthy 
Norman  gentleman,  well  known  to  the  Marechal  de 
Richelieu,  who  married  him  to  one  of  the  richest  heir- 
esses of  Bordeaux  in  the  days  when  the  old  duke 
reigned  in  Guienne  as  governor.  The  Norman  then 
sold  the  estate  he  owned  in  Bessin,  and  became  a 
Gascon,  allured  by  the  beauty  of  the  chateau  de  Lans- 
trac,  a delightful  residence  owned  by  his  wife.  Dur- 
ing the  last  days  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.,  he  bought 
the  post  of  major  of  the  Gate  Guards,  and  lived  till 
1813,  having  by  great  good  luck  escaped  the  dangers 
of  the  Revolution  in  the  following  manner. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year,  1790,  he  went  to  Mar- 
tinque,  where  his  wife  had  interests,  leaving  the  man- 
agement of  his  property  in  Gascogne  to  an  honest  man, 
a notary’s  clerk,  named  Mathias,  who  was  inclined  to 
or  at  any  rate  did  — give  into  the  new  ideas.  On 

tiis  return  the  Comte  deManerville  found  his  possessions 

1 


2 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


intact  and  well-managed.  This  sound  result  was  the 
fruit  produced  by  grafting  the  Gascon  on  the  Norman. 

Madame  de  Manerville  died  in  1810.  Having 
learned  the  importance  of  worldly  goods  through  the 
dissipations  of  his  youth,  and,  giving  them,  like  many 
another  old  man,  a higher  place  than  they  really  hold 
in  life,  Monsieur  de  Manerville  became  increasingly 
economical,  miserly,  and  sordid.  Without  reflecting 
that  the  avarice  of  parents  prepares  the  way  for  the 
prodigalities  of  children,  he  allowed  almost  nothing  to 
his  son,  although  that  son  was  an  only  child. 

Paul  de  Manerville,  coming  home  from  the  college 
of  Vendome  in  1810,  lived  under  close  paternal  discipline 
for  three  years.  The  tyranny  by  which  the  old  man  of 
seventy  oppressed  his  heir  influenced,  necessarily,  a 
heart  and  a character  which  were  not  yet  formed. 
Paul,  the  son,  without  lacking  the  physical  courage 
which  is  vital  in  the  air  of  Gascony,  dared  not  struggle 
against  his  father,  and  consequently  lost  that  faculty 
of  resistance  which  begets  moral  courage.  His 
thwarted  feelings  were  driven  to  the  depths  of  his 
heart,  where  they  remained  without  expression ; later, 
when  he  felt  them  to  be  out  of  harmony  with 
the  maxims  of  the  world,  he  could  only  think  rightly 
and  act  mistakenly.  He  was  capable  of  fighting  for  a 
mere  word  or  look,  yet  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of 
dismissing  a servant,  — his  timidity  showing  itself  in 
those  contests  only  which  required  a persistent  will. 
Capable  of  doing  great  things  to  fly  from  persecution, 
he  would  never  have  prevented  it  by  systematic  oppo- 
sition, nor  have  faced  it  with  the  steady  employment  of  i 
force  of  will.  Timid  in  thought,  bold  in  actions,  he 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


3 


ng  preserved  that  inward  simplicity  which  makes 
man  the  dupe  and  the  voluntary  victim  of  things 
• ainst  which  certain  souls  hesitate  to  revolt,  prefer- 
ng  to  endure  them  rather  than  complain.  He  wms,  in 
)int  of  fact,  imprisoned  in  his  father’s  old  mansion, 

)r  he  had  not  enough  money  to  consort  with  young  men ; 

3 envied  their  pleasures  while  unable  to  share  them. 

The  old  gentleman  took  him  every  evening,  in 
n old  carriage  drawn  by  ill-harnessed  old  horses, 
tteuded  by  ill-dressed  old  servants,  to  royalist 
ouses,  where  he  met  a society  composed  of  the 
elics  of  the  parliamentary  nobility  and  the  martial 
obility.  These  two  nobilities  coalescing  after  the 
levolution  for  the  purpose  of  resisting  imperial 
nfluence,  had  now  transformed  themselves  into^  a 
anded  aristocracy.  Crushed  by  the  vast  and  swelling 
ortunes  of  the  maritime  cities,  this  Taubourg  Saint- 
dermain  of  Bordeaux  responded  by  lofty  disdain  to 
;he  sumptuous  displays  of  commerce,  government  ad- 
ninistrations,  and  the  military.  Too  young  to  under- 
stand social  distinctions  and  the  necessities  underlying 
the  apparent  assumption  which  they  create,  Paul  was 
bored  to  death  among  these  ancients,  unaware  that  the 
connections  of  his  youth  would  eventually  secure  to 
him  that  aristocratic  pre-eminence  which  Frenchmen 
will  forever  desire. 

He  found  some  slight  compensations  for  the  dul- 
ness  of  these  evenings  in  certain  manual  exercises 
which  always  delight  young  men,  and  which  his  father 
enjoined  upon  him.  The  old  gentleman  considered  that 
to  know  the  art  of  fencing  and  the  use  of  arms,  to  ride 
well  on  horseback,  to  play  tennis,  to  acquire  good 


4 The  Marriage  Contract.  ; 

manners,  in  short,  to  possess  all  the  frivolous  accon 
plishments  of  the  old  nobility,  — made  a young  man  ( 
the  present  day  a finished  gentleman.  According!;; 
Paul  took  a fencing-lesson  every  morning,  went  to  tl 
riding-school,  and  practised  in  a pistol-gallery.  The  res 
of  his  time  he  spent  in  reading  novels,  for  his  fathe 
would  never  have  allowed  the  more  abstruse  studie 
now  considered  necessary  to  finish  an  education. 

So  monotonous  a life  would  soon  have  killed  th 
poor  youth  if  the  death  of  the  old  man  had  not  deliv 
ered  him  from  this  tyranny  at  the  moment  when  it  wa 
becoming  intolerable.  Paul  found  himself  in  posses 
sion  of  considerable  capital,  accumulated  by  his  father’i 
avarice,  together  with  landed  estates  in  the  best  pos 
sible  condition.  But  he  now  held  Bordeaux  in  horror 
neither  did  he  like  Lanstrac,  where  his  father  hac 
taken  him  to  spend  the  summers,  employing  his  whole 
time  from  morning  till  night  in  hunting. 

As  soon  as  the  estate  was  fairly  settled,  the  young 
heir,  eager  for  enjoyment,  bought  consols  with  his 
capital,  left  the  management  of  the  landed  property  to 
old  Mathias,  his  father’s  notary,  and  spent  the  next 
six  years  away  from  Bordeaux.  At  first  he  was  at- 
tached to  the  French  embassy  at  Naples ; after  that 
he  was  secretary  of  legation  at  Madrid,  and  then  in 
London,  — making  in  this  way  the  tour  of  Europe. 

After  seeing  the  world  and  life,  after  losing  several 
illusions,  after  dissipating  all  the  loose  capital  which 
his  father  had  amassed,  there  came  a time  when,  in 
order  to  continue  his  way  of  life,  Paul  was  forced  to 
di-aw  upon  the  territoral  revenues  which  his  notary  was 
laying  by.  At  this  critical  moment,  seized  by  one  of 


^ The  Marriage  Contract.  o 

ie  so-called  virtuous  impulses,  he  determined  to  leave 
aris,  return  to  Bordeaux,  regulate  bis  affairs,  lead  the 
fe  of  a country  gentleman  at  Lanstrac,  improve  his 
foperty,  marrv,  and  become,  in  the  end,  a deputy. 

Paul  was  a count ; nobility  was  once  more  of  matn- 
lonial  value ; he  could,  and  he  ought  to  make  a good 
larriage.  While  many  women  desire  a title,  many 
thers  like  to  marry  a man  to  whom  a knowledge  of 
fe  is  familiar.  Now  Paul  had  acquired,  in  exchange 
K the  sum  of  seven  hundred  thousand  francs  squan- 
ered  in  six  years,  that  possession,  which  cannot  be 
ouglit  and  is  practically  of  more  value  than  gold  and 
ilver ; a knowledge  which  exacts  long  study , proba- 
ion,  examinations,  friends,  enemies,  acquaintances, 
ertain  manners,  elegance  of  form  and  demeanor, 

, graceful  and  euphonious  name,  — a knowledge, 
noreover,  which  means  many  love-affairs,  duels,  bets 
ost  on  a race-course,  disillusions,  deceptions,  annoy- 
•nces,  toils,  and  a vast  variety  of  undigested  pleasures, 
n short,  he  had  become  what  is  called  elegant.  But 
n spite  of  his  mad  extravagance  he  had  never  made 
limself  a mere  fashionable  man.  In  the  burlesque 
irmy  of  men  of  tlie  world,  the  man  of  fashion  holds 
he  place  of  a marshal  of  France,  the  man  of  elegance 
s.  the  equivalent  of  a lieutenant-general.  Paul  enjoyed 
lis  lesser  reputation,  of  elegance,  and  knew  well  how  to 
mstain  it.  His  servants  were  well-dressed,  his  equi- 
pages were  cited,  his  suppers  had  a certain  vogue ; in 
short,  his  bachelor  establishment  was  counted  among 
the  seven  or  eight  whose  splendor  equalled  that  of  the 
finest  houses  in  Paris. 

But he  had  not  caused  the  wretchedness  of  any 


6 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


woman ; he  gambled  without  losing ; his  luck  was  n* 
notorious ; he  was  far  too  upright  to  deceive  or  misler 
any  one,  no  matter  who,  even  a wanton ; never  did  1 
leave  his  billets-doux  lying  about,  and  he  possessed  r 
coffer  or  desk  for  love-letters  which  his  friends  were  i 
liberty  to  read  while  he  tied  his  cravat  or  trimmed  h 
beard.  Moreover,  not  willing  to  dip  into  his  Guienr 
property,  he  had  not  that  bold  extravagance  whic 
leads  to  great  strokes  and  calls  attention  at  any  co^ 
to  the  proceedings  of  a young  man.  Neither  did  h 
borrow  money,  but  he  had  the  folly  to  lend  to  friends 
who  then  deserted  him  and  spoke  of  him  no  more  eithe 
for  good  or  evil.  He  seemed  to  have  regulated  his  dis 
sipations  methodically.  The  secret  of  his  character  la; 
in  his  father’s  tyranny,  which  had  made  him,  as  it  were 
a social  mongrel. 

So,  one  morning,  he  said  to  a friend  named  d( 
Marsay,  who  afterwards  became  celebrated : — 

“ My  dear  fellow,  life  has  a meaning.” 

‘‘  You  must  be  twenty-seven  years  of  age  before  yoi 
can  find  it  out,”  replied  de  Marsay,  laughing. 

‘‘  Well,  I am  twenty-seven  ; and  precisely  because  J 
am  twenty-seven  I mean  to  live  the  life  of  a countrj 
gentleman  at  Lanstrac.  I ’ll  transport  my  belongings 
to  Bordeaux  into  my  father’s  old  mansion,  and  1 ’ll 
spend  three  months  of  the  year  in  Paris  in  this  house, 
which  I shall  keep.” 

‘‘  Will  you  marry?  ” 

‘‘  I shall  marry.” 

“I’m  your  friend,  as  you  know,  my  old  Paul,”  said 
de  Marsay,  after  a moment’s  silence,  “and  I say  to i 
you : settle  down  into  a worthy  father  and  husband 


The  Marriage  Contract.  7 

and  you’ll  be  ridiculous  for  the  rest  of  your  days. 

If  you  could  be  happy  and  ridiculous,  the  thing  might 
be  thought  of  ; but  you  will  not  be  happy.  You  have  n’t 
a strong  enough  wrist  to  drive  a household.  I ’ll  do 
you  justice  and  say  you  are  a perfect  horseman ; no 
one  .knows  as  well  as  you  how  to  pick  up  or  throw  down 
the  reins,  and  make  a horse  prance,  and  sit  firm  to  the 
saddle.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  marriage  is  another  thing. 

I see  you  uotv,  led  along  at  a slapping  pace  by  Madame 
la  Comtesse  de  Manerville,  going  whither  you  would 
not,  oftener  at  a gallop  than  a trot,  and  presently  un- 
Ijorsed ! — yes,  unhorsed  into  a ditch  and  your  legs 
broken.  Listen  to  me.  You  still  have  some  forty-odd 
thousand  francs  a year  from  your  property  in  the 
Gironde.  Good.  Take  your  horses  and  servants  and 
furnish  your  house  in  Bordeaux ; you  can  be  king  of 
Bordeaux,  you  can  promulgate  there  the  edicts  that  we 
put  forth  in  Paris;  you  can  be  the  correspondent  of 
our  stupidities.  Very  good.  Play  the  rake  in  the  pro- 
vinces ; better  still,  commit  follies ; follies  may  win  you 
celebrity.  But  — don’t  marry.  Who  marries  nowa- 
days? Only  merchants,  for  the  sake  of  their  capital, 
or  to  be  two  to  drag  the  cart.;  only  peasants  who  want 
to  produce  children  to  work  for  them ; only  brokers  and 
notaries  who  want  a wife’s  dot  to  pay  for  their  practice ; 
only  miserable  kings  who  are  forced  to  continue  their 
miserable  dynasties.  But  we  are  exempt  from  the 
pack,  and  you  want  to  shoulder  it!  And  why  do  you 
want  to  marry?  You  ought  to  give  your  best  friend 
your  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  if  you  marry  an 
heiress  as  rich  as  yourself,  eighty  thousand  francs  a 
year  for  two  is  not  the  same  thing  as  forty  thousand 


8 The  Marriage  Contract.  | 

francs  a year  for  one,  because  the  two  are  soon  three 
or  four  when  the  children  come.  You  have  n’t  surely 
any  love  for  that  silly  race  of  Manerville  which  would 
only  hamper  you?  Are  you  ignorant  of  what  a father 
and  mother  have  to  be  ? Marriage,  my  old  Paul,  is  the 
silliest  of  all  the  social  immolations ; our  children  alone 
profit  by  it,  and  don’t  know  its  price  till  their  horses 
are  nibbling  the  flowers  on  our  grave.  Do  you  regret 
your  father,  that  old  tyrant  who  made  your  first  years 
wretched?  How  can  you  be  sure  that  your  children 
will  love  you?  The  very  care  you  take  of  their  educa- 
tion,  your  precautions  for  their  happiness,  your  neces- 
sary sternness  will  lessen  their  affection.  Children 
love  a weak  or  a prodigal  father,  whom  they  will  despise 
m after  years.  You  ’ll  live  betwixt  fear  and  contempt. 
No  man  is  a good  head  of  a family  merely  because  he 
wants  to  be.  Look  round  on  all  our  friends  and  name 
to  me  one  whom  you  would  like  to  have  for  a son. 
We  have  known  a good  many  who  dishonor  their 
names.  Children,  my  dear  Paul,  are  the  most  difficult 
kind  of  merchandise  to  take  care  of.  Yours,  you  think, 
will  be  angels ; well,  so  be  it ! Have  you  ever  sounded 
the  gulf  which  lies  between  the  lives  of  a bachelor  and 
a married  man?  Listen.  As  a bachelor  you  can  say 
to  yourself : ‘ I shall  never  exhibit  more  than  a certain 
amount  of  the  ridiculous ; the  public  will  think  of  me 
what  I choose  it  to  think.’  Married,  you  ’ll  drop  into 
the  infinitude  of  the  ridiculous  ! Bachelor,  you  can  make 
your  own  happiness ; you  enjoy  some  to-day,  you  do 
without  it  to-morrow ; married,  you  must  take  it  as  it 
comes ; and  the  day  you  want  it  you  will  have  to  go 
without  it.  Marry,  and  you’ll  grow  a blockhead; 


The  Marriage  Contract.  , 9 

ou  ’ll  calculate  dowries ; you  ’ll  talk  morality,  public 
iid  religious;  you’ll  thiuk  young  men  immoral  and 
angerous ; in  short,  you  ’ll  become  a social  academi- 
iam  It ’s  pitiable ! The  old  bachelor  whose  property 
m heirs  are  waiting  for,  who  fights  to  his  last  breath 
ith  his  nurse  for  a spoonful  of  drink,  is  blest  in  com- 
arison  with  a married  man.  I ’m  not  speaking  of  all 
hat  will  happen  to  annoy,  bore,  irritate,  coerce,  op- 
ose,  tyrannize,  narcotize,  paralyze,  and  idiotize  a man 
a marriage,  in  that  struggle  of  two  beings  always  in  one 
nother’s  presence,  bound  forever,  who  have  coupled 
ach  other  under  the  strange  impression  that  they  were 
uited.  No,  to  tell  you  those  things  would  be  merely  a 
epetition  of  Boileau,  and  we  know  him  by  heart.  Still, 
’ll  forgive  your  absurd  idea  if  you  will  promise  me  to 
narry  en  grand  seigneur  ; to  entail  your  property ; to 
rave  two  legitimate  children , to  give  your  wife  a house 
ind  household  absolutely  distinct  from  yours ; to  meet 
ler  only  in  society,  and  never  to  return  from  a journey 
without  sending  her  a courier  to  announce  it.  Two  hun- 
Ired  thousand  francs  a year  will  suffice  for  such  a life 
ind  your  antecedents  will  enable  you  to  marry  some  rich 
English  woman  hungry  for  a title.  That ’s  an  aristo- 
3ratic  life  which  seems  to  me  thoroughly  French ; the 
only  life  in  which  we  can  retain  the  respect  and 
friendship  of  a woman;  the  only  life  which  distin- 
guishes a man  from  the  present  crowd,  — in  short,  the 
only  life  for  which  a young  man  should  even  thmk  of 
resigning  his  bachelor  blessings.  Thus  established, 
the  Comte  de  Manerville  may  advise  his  epoch,  place 
himself  above  the  world,  and  be  nothing  less  than  a 
minister  oi  an  ambassador.  Ridicule  can  never  touch 


10 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


him ; he  has  gained  the  social  advantages  of  marriagj 
while  keeping  all  the  privileges  of  a bachelor.”  t 

‘‘  But,  my  good  friend,  I am  not  de  Marsay ; I ai| 
plainly,  as  you  yourself  do  me  the  honor  to  say,  Paul  di 
Manerville,  worthy  father  and  husband,  deputy  of  th( 
Centre,  possibly  peer  of  France,  — a destiny  extremelj 
commonplace  ; but  I am  modest  and  I resign  myself.’^ 
“Yes,  but  your  wife,”  said  the  pitiless  de  Marsay, 
“ will  she  resign  herself?  ” 

“ My  wife,  my  dear  fellow,  will  do  as  I wish.” 

“Ah!  my  poor  friend,  is  that  where  you  are? 
Adieu,  Paul.  Henceforth,  I refuse  to  respect  you. 
One  word  more,  however,  for  I cannot  agree  coldly  to 
your  abdication.  Look  and  see  in  what  the  strength 
of  our  position  lies.  A bachelor  with  only  six  thou- 
sand francs  a year  remaining  to  him  has  at  least  his 
reputation  for  elegance  and  the  memory  of  success. 
Well,  even  that  fantastic  shadow  has  enormous  value 
in  it.  Life  still  offers  many  chances  to  the  unmarried 
man.  Yes,  he  can  aim  at  anything.  But  marriage, 
Paul,  is  the  social  ‘ Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no 
farther.’  Once  married  you  can  never  be  an^ffhing 
but  what  you  then  are  — unless  your  wife  should  deign 
to  care  for  you.” 

“But,”  said  Paul,  “you  are  crushing  me  down  with 
exceptional  theories.  I am  tired  of  living  for  others ; 
of  having  horses  merely  to  exhibit  them  ; of  doing  all  | 
things  for  the  sake  of  what  may  be  said  of  them ; of 
wasting  my  substance  to  keep  fools  from  crying  out : ; 
‘ Dear,  dear ! Paul  is  still  driving  the  same  carriage.  I 
What  has  he  done  with  his  fortune  ? Does  he  squan- 1 
der  it?  Does  he  gamble  at  the  Bourse?  Ko,  he’s  a 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


11 


flillionnaire.  Madame  such  a one  is  mad  about  him. 
le  sent  to  England  for  a harness  which  is  certainly  the 
landsomest  in  all  Paris.  The  four-horse  equipages  of 
dessieurs  de  Marsay  and  de  Manerville  were  much 
loticed  at  Longchamps;  the  harness  was  perfect’ 
n short,  the  thousand  silly  things  with  which  a crowd 
)f  idiots  lead  us  by  the  nose.  Believe  me,  my  dear 
denri,  I admire  your  power,  but  I don’t  envy  it.  You 
enow  how  to  judge  of  life ; you  think  and  act  as  a 
statesman;  you  are  able  to  place  yourself  above  all 
>rdinary  laws,  received  ideas,  adopted  conventions, 
ind  acknowledged  prejudices;  in  short,  you  can  grasp 
the  profits  of  a situation  in  which  I should  find  nothing 
but  ill-luck.  Your  cool,  systematic,  possibly  true 
deductions  are,  to  the  eyes  of  the  masses,  shockingly  im- 
moral. I belong  to  the  masses.  I must  play  my 
game  of  life  according  to  the  rules  of  the  society  in 
which  I am  forced  to  live.  While  putting  yourself 
above  all  human  things  on  peaks  of  ice,  you  still  have 
feelings ; but  as  for  me,  I should  freeze  to  death.  The 
life  of  that  great  majority,  to  which  I belong  in  my 
commonplace  way,  is  made  up  of  emotions  of  which  I 
now  have  need.  Often  a man  coquets  with  a dozen 
women  and  obtains  none.  Then,  whatever  be  his 
strength,  his  cleverness,  his  knowledge  of  the  world, 
he  undergoes  convulsions,  in  which  he  is  crushed  as 
between  two  gates.  For  my  part,  1 like  the  peaceful 
chances  and  changes  of  life ; I want  that  wholesome 
existence  in  which  we  find  a woman  always  at  our 
side.” 

“ A trifle  indecorous,  your  marnage ! ” exclaimed  de 
Marsay. 


12 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Paul  was  not  to  be  put  out  of  countenance,  and 
continued  : Laugh  if  you  like;  I shall  feel  myself  a 
happy  man  when  my  valet  enters  my  room  in  the  morn- 
ing and  says : ‘ Madame  is  awaiting  monsieur  foi 
breakfast ; ’ happier  still  at  night,  when  I return  to 
find  a heart  — ’’ 

‘‘Altogether  indecorous,  my  dear  Paul.  You  are 
not  yet  moral  enough  to  marry.’* 

“ — a heart  in  which  to  confide  my  interests  and 
my  secrets.  I wish  to  live  in  such  close  union  with 
a woman  that  our  affection  shall  not  depend  upon  a 
yes  or  a no,  or  be  open  to  the  disillusions  of  love. 
In  short,  I have  the  necessary  courage  to  become,  as 
you  say,  a worthy  husband  and  father.  I feel  myself 
fitted  for  family  joys  ; I wish  to  put  myself  under  the 
conditions  prescribed  by  society ; I desire  to  have  a 
wife  and  children.” 

“ You  remind  me  of  a hive  of  honey-bees ! But  go 
your  way,  you  ’ll  be  a dupe  all  your  life.  Ha,  ha  ! you 
wish  to  marry  to  have  a wife ! In  other  words,  you 
wish  to  solve  satisfactorily  to  your  own  profit  the  most 
difficult  problem  presented  by  those  bourgeois  morals 
which  were  created  by  the  French  Revolution;  and, 
what  is  more,  you  mean  to  begin  your  attempt  by  a 
life  of  retirement.  Do  you  think  your  wife  won’t 
crave  the  life  you  say  you  despise?  Will  she  be  dis- 
gusted with  it,  as  you  are?  If  you  won’t  accept  the 
noble  conjugality  just  formulated  for  your  benefit  by 
your  friend  de  Marsay,  listen,  at  any  rate,  to  his  final 
advice.  Remain  a bachelor  for  the  next  thirteen  years ; 
amuse  yourself  like  a lost  soul ; then,  at  forty,  on 
your  first  attack  of  gout,  marry  a widow  of  thirty-six. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


13 


['hen  yon  may  possibly  be  happy.  If  you  now  take  a 
foung  girl  to  wife,  you  ’ll  die  a madman.” 

'•‘•Ah  ! tell  me  why!”  cried  Paul,  somewhat 

nqued. 

“ My  dear  fellow,”  replied  de  Marsay,  “ Boileau’s 
latire  against  women  is  a tissue  of  poetical  common- 
)laces.  Why  should  n’t  women  have  defects  ? Why 
jondemn  them  for  having  the  most  obvious  thing  in 
lumau  nature?  To  my  mind,  the  problem  of  marriage 
s not  at  all  at  the  point  where  Boileau  puts  it.  Do 
^ou  suppose  that  marriage  is  the  same  thing  as  love, 
ind  that  being  a man  suffices  to  make  a wife  love  you? 
3ave  you  gathered  nothing  in  your  boudoir  experience 
iut  pleasant  memories?  I tell  you  that  everything  in 
)ur  bachelor  life  leads  to  fatal  errors  in  the  married 
nan  unless  he  is  a profound  observer  of  the  human 
leart.  In  the  happy  days  of  his  youth  a man,  by  the 
japrice  of  our  customs,  is  always  lucky ; he  triumphs 
)ver  women  who  are  all  ready  to  be  triumphed  over 
ind  who  obey  their  own  desires.  One  thing  after 
mother  — the  obstacles  created  by  the  laws,  the  senti- 
nents  and  natural  defences  of  women  — all  engender 
5,  mutuality  of  sensations  which  deceives  superficial 
persons  as  to  their  future  relations  in  marriage,  where 
obstacles  no  longer  exist,  where  the  wife  submits  to 
love  instead  of  permitting  it,  and  frequently  repulses 
pleasure  instead  of  desiring  it.  Then,  the  whole  as- 
pect of  a man’s  life  changes.  The  bachelor,  who  is 
free  and  without  a care,  need  never  fear  repulsion ; in 
marriage,  repulsion  is  almost  certain  and  irreparable. 
It  may  be  possible  for  a lover  to  make  a woman  reverse 
an  unfavorable  decision,  but  such  a change,  my  dear 


14 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Paul,  is  the  Waterloo  of  husbands.  Like  Napoleon,  th( 
husband  is  thenceforth  condemned  to  victories  which, 
in  spite  of  their  number,  do  not  prevent  the  first  defea; 
from  crushing  him.  The  woman,  so  flattered  by  thi 
perseverance,  so  delighted  with  the  ardor  of  a lover, 
calls  the  same  things  brutality  in  a husband.  You 
who  talk  of  marrying,  and  who  will  marry,  have  yot 
ever  meditated  on  the  Civil  Code?  I myself  hav( 
never  muddied  my  feet  in  that  hovel  of  commentators, 
that  garret  of  gossip,  called  the  Law-school.  I have 
never  so  much  as  opened  the  Code ; but  1 see  its  appli- 
cation on  the  vitals  of  society.  The  Code,  my  dear  Paul, 
makes  woman  a ward ; it  considers  her  a child,  a minor. 
Now  how  must  we  govern  children?  By  fear.  In 
that  one  word,  Paul,  is  the  curb  of  the  beast.  Now, 
feel  your  own  pulse ! Have  you  the  strength  to  play 
the  tyrant,  — you,  so  gentle,  so  kind  a friend,  so  confid- 
ing; you,  at  whom  I have  laughed,  but  whom  I love, 
and  love  enough  to  reveal  to  you  my  science?  For 
this  is  science.  Yes,  it  proceeds  from  a science  which 
the  Germans  are  already  calling  Anthropology.  Ah ! 
if  I had  not  already  solved  the  mystery  of  life  by 
pleasure,  if  I had  not  a profound  antipathy  for  those 
who  think  instead  of  act,  if  I did  not  despise  the  nin- 
nies who  are  silly  enough  to  believe  in  the  truth  of  a 
book,  when  the  sands  of  the  African  deserts  are  made  ^ 
of  the  ashes  of  I know  not  how  many  unknown  and 
pulverized  Londons,  Romes,  Veniees,  and  Parises,  I 
would  write  a book  on  modern  marriages  made  under 
the  influence  of  the  Christian  system,  and  I ’d  stick  a 
lantern  on  that  heap  of  sharp  stones  among  which  lie 
the  votaries  of  the  social  multiplicamhii.  But  the 


!|i  ■ The  Marriage  Contract.  IS 

(aestion  is,  Does  humanity  require  even  an  hour  of  my 
Ime?  And  besides,  is  n’t  the  more  reasonable  use  of 
ink  that  of  snaring  hearts  by  writing  love-letters?  — 
iVell,  shall  you  bring  the  Comtesse  de  Manerville  here, 
md  let  us  see  her?  ” 

“ Perhaps,”  said  Paul. 

“We  shall  still  be  friends,”  said  de  Marsay. 

“If  — ” replied  Paul. 

“Don’t  be  uneasy;  we  will  treat  you  politely,  as 
ilaison-Rouge  treated  the  English  at  Fontenoy.” 


16 


The  Marriage  Contract 


11. 


THE  PINK  OP  FASHIOK. 

Though  the  foregoing  conversation  affected  the 
Comte  de  Manerviile  somewhat,  he  made  it  a point  of 
duty  to  carry  out  his  intentions,  and  he  returned  to 
Bordeaux  during  the  winter  of  the  year  1821. 

The  expenses  he  incurred  in  restoring  and  furnishing 
his  family  mansion  sustained  the  reputation  for  ele- 
gance which  had  preceded  him.  Introduced  through 
his  former  connections  to  the  royalist  society  of  Bor- 
deaux, to  which  he  belonged  as  much  by  his  personal 
opinions  as  by  his  name  and  fortune,  he  soon  obtained 
a fashionable  pre-eminence.  His  knowledge  of  life,  his 
manners,  his  Parisian  acquirements  enchanted  the  fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  of  Bordeaux.  An  old  marquise 
made  use  of  a term  formerly  in  vogue  at  court  to  ex- 
press the  flowery  beauty  of  the  fops  and  beaux  of  the 
olden  time,  whose  language  and  demeanor  were  social 
laws:  she  called  him  ‘‘the  pink  of  fashion.”  The 
liberal  clique  caught  up  the  word  and  used  it  satirically 
as  a nickname,  while  the  royalist  party  continued  to 
employ  it  in  good  faith. 

Paul  de  Manerviile  acquitted  himself  gloriously  of 
the  obligations  imposed  by  his  flowery  title.  It  hap- 
pened to  him,  as  to  many  a mediocre  actor,  that  the 
day  when  the  public  granted  him  them  full  attention 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


17 


3 became,  one  may  almost  say,  superior.  Feeling  at 
is  ease,  he  displayed  the  fine  qualities  which  accom- 
anied  his  defects.  His  wit  had  nothing  sharp  or  bit- 
;r  in  it ; his  manners  were  not  supercilious ; his  inter- 
)urse  with  women  expressed  the  respect  they  like,  — it 
as  neither  too  deferential,  nor  too  familiar ; his  fop- 
ery  went  no  farther  than  a care  for  his  personal 
ppearance  which  made  him  agreeable;  he  showed 
onsideration  for  rank ; he  allowed  young  men  a cer- 
lin  freedom,  to  which  his  Parisian  experience  assigned 
he  limits;  though  skilful  with  sword  and  pistol,  he 
ms  noted  for  a feminine  gentleness  for  which  others 
'ere  grateful.  His  medium  height  and  plumpness 
which  had  not  yet  increased  into  obesity,  an  obstacle 
3 personal  elegance)  did  not  prevent  his  outer  man 
fom  playing  the  part  of  a Bordelais  Brummell.  A 
rhite  skin  tinged  with  the  hues  of  health,  handsome 
ands  and  feet,  blue  eyes  with  long  lashes,  black  hair, 
raceful  motions,  a chest  voice  which  kept  to  its  mid- 
le  tones  and  vibrated  in  the  listener’s  heart,  harmon- 
sed  well  with  his  sobriquet.  Paul  was  indeed  that 
elicate  flower  which  needs  such  careful  culture,  the 
ualities  of  which  display  themselves  only  in  a moist 
lid  suitable  soil,  — a flower  which  rough  treatment 
iiwarfs,  which  the  hot  sun  burns,  and  a frost  lays  low. 
le  was  one  of  those  men  made  to  receive  happiness. 


ither  than  to  give  it ; who  have  something  of  the 
'Oman  in  their  nature,  wishing  to  be  divined,  under- 
tood,  encouraged ; in  short,  a man  to  whom  conjugal 
ive  ought  to  come  as  a providence. 

If  such  a character  creates  difficulties  in  private  life, 
; is  gracious  and  full  of  attraction  for  the  world. 


18 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Consequently,  Paul  had  great  success  in  the  narrot 
social  circle  of  the  provinces,  where  his  mind,  alwayj 
so  to  speak,  in  half-tints,  was  better  appreciated  thaj 
in  Paris. 

The  arrangement  of  his  house  and  the  restoratioi 
of  the  chateau  de  Lanstrac,  where  he  introduced  th 
comfort  and  luxury  of  an  English  country-house,  ab 
sorbed  the  capital  saved  by  his  notary  during  the  pre 
ceding  six  years.  Reduced  now  to  his  strict  incom< 
of  forty-odd  thousand  a year,  he  thought  himself  wis< 
and  prudent  in  so  regulating  his  household  as  not  t( 
exceed  it. 

After  publicly  exhibiting  his  equipages,  entertaininc 
the  most  distinguished  young  men  of  the  place,  and 
giving  various  hunting  parties  on  the  estate  at  Lan- 
strac, Paul  saw  very  plainly  that  provincial  life  would 
never  do  without  marriage.  Too  young  to  employ  his 
time  in  miserly  occupations,  or  in  trying  to  interest 
himself  in  the  speculative  improvements  in  which  pro- 
vincials sooner  or  later  engage  (compelled  thereto  by 
the  necessity  of  establishing  their  children),  he  soon 
felt  the  need  of  that  variety  of  distractions  a habit  of 
which  becomes  at  last  the  very  life  of  a Parisian.  A 
name  to  preserve,  property  to  transmit  to  heirs,  social 
relations  to  be  created  by  a household  where  the  prin- 
cipal families  of  the  neighborhood  could  assemble, 
and  a weariness  of  all  irregular  connections,  were  not, 
however,  the  determining  reasons  of  his  matrimonial 
desires.  From  the  time  he  first  returned  to  the  prov- 
inces he  had  been  secretly  in  love  with  the  queen  of  i 
Bordeaux,  the  great  beauty.  Mademoiselle  Evangelista,  j 

About  the  beginning  of  the  century,  a rich  Spaniard,  j 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


19 


lamed  llvangelista,  established  himself  in  Bordeaux, 
rhere  his  letters  of  recommendation,  as  well  as  his 
arge  fortune,  gave  him  an  entrance  to  the  salons  of 
he  nobility.  His  wife  contributed  greatly  to  maintain 
lim  in  the  good  graces  of  an  aristocracy  which  may 
lerhaps  have  adopted  him  in  the  first  instance  merely 
o pique  the  society  of  the  class  below  them.  Ma- 
lame  Evangelista,  who  belonged  to  the  Casa-Reale,  an 
llustrious  family  of  Spain,  was  a creole,  and,  like  all 
vomen  served  by  slaves,  she  lived  as  a great  lady, 
cnew  nothing  of  the  value  of  money,  repressed  no 
vhiins,  even  the  most  expensive,  finding  them  ever 
satisfied  by  an  adoring  husband  who  generously  con- 
lealed  from  her  knowledge  the  running-gear  of  the 
inancial  machine.  Happy  in  finding  her  pleased  with 
Bordeaux,  where  his  interests  obliged  him  to  live, 
she  Spaniard  bought  a house,  set  up  a household,  re- 
5eived  in  much  style,  and  gave  many  proofs  of  pos- 
sessing a fine  taste  in  all  things.  Thus,  from  1800  to 
1812,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Evangelista  were  objects 
3f  great  interest  to  the  community  of  Bordeaux. 

The  Spaniard  died  in  1813,  leaving  his  wife  a widow 
at  thirty-two  years  of  age,  with  an  immense  fortune 
and  the  prettiest  little  girl  in  the  world,  a child  of 
eleven,  who  promised  to  be,  and  did  actually  become, 
a most  accomplished  young  woman.  Clever  as  Ma- 
dame Evangelista  was,  the  Restoration  altered  her 
position ; the  royalist  party  cleared  its  ranks  and  sev- 
eral of  the  old  families  left  Bordeaux.  Though  the 
head  and  hand  of  her  husband  were  lacking  in  the 
direction  of  her  affairs,  for  which  she  had  hitherto 
shown  the  indifference  of  a creole  and  the  inaptitude  of 


20 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


a lackadaisical  woman,  she  was  determined  to  make  n(J 
change  in  her  manner  of  living.  At  the  peidod  when 
Paul  resolved  to  return  to  his  native  town,  Mademok 
selle  Natalie  Evangelista  was  a remarkably  beautiful 
young  girl,  and,  apparently,  the  richest  match  in  Bor- 
deaux, where  the  steady  diminution  of  her  mother’s 
capital  was  unknown.  In  order  to  prolong  her  reign, 
Madame  Evangelista  had  squandered  enormous  sums. 
Brilliant  fetes  and  the  continuation  of  an  almost  regal 
stjde  of  living  kept  the  public  in  its  past  belief  as  to 
the  wealth  of  the  Spanish  family. 

Natalie  was  now  in  her  nineteenth  year,  but  no  pro- 
posal of  marriage  had  as  yet  reached  her  mother’s  ear. 
Accustomed  to  gratify  her  fancies.  Mademoiselle  Evan- 
gelista wore  cashmeres  and  jewels,  and  lived  in  a 
style  of  luxury  which  alarmed  all  speculative  suitors 
in  a region  and  at  a period  when  sons  were  as  calculat- 
ing as  their  parents.  The  fatal  remark,  “ None  but 
a prince  can  afford  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Evange- 
lista,” circulated  among  the  salons  and  the  cliques. 
Mothers  of  families,  dowagers  who  had  granddaugh- 
ters to  establish,  young  girls  jealous  of  Natalie,  whose 
elegance  and  tyrannical  beauty  annoyed  them,  took 
.pains  to  envenom  this  opinion  with  treacherous  re- 
marks. When  they  heard  a possible  suitor  say  with 
ecstatic  admiration,  as  Natalie  entered  a ball-room,; 
“Heavens,  how  beautiful  she  is  ! ” “Yes,”  the  mamma^ 
would  answer,  “but  expensive.”  If  some  new-comei 
thought  Mademoiselle  Evangelista  bewitching  and  said 
to  a marriageable  man  that  he  could  n’t  do  better, 
“Who  M'ould  be  bold  enough,”  some  woman  would 
reply,  “ to  marry  a girl  whose  mother  gives  her  a thou 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


21 


and  francs  a month  for  her  toilet, -a  girl  who  has 
orses  and  a maid  of  her  own,  and  wears  laces,  ^es, 
er  peignoirs  are  trimmed  with  mechlin.  The  price  of 
,er  washing  would  support  the  household  of  a cleik 
;he  wears  pelerines  in  the  morning  which  actually  cost 

ix  francs  to  get  up.’’  n • ..i  ^ 

These,  and  other  speeches  said  occasionally  in  the  for 

,f  praise  extinguished  the  desires  that  some  men  might 
lave  had  to  marry  the  beautiful  Spanish  gir  . 
if  every  ball,  accustomed  to  flattery,  Masee  with  the 
smiles  and  the  admiration  which  followed  her  every  step, 
Natalie,  nevertheless,  knew  nothing  of  life.  She  lived 
as  the  bird  which  flies,  as  the  flower  that  b ooms,  find- 
incr  every  one  about  her  eager  to  do  her  will.  She  was 
ionorantof  the  price  of  things;  she  knew  neither  the 
vmlue  of  money,  nor  whence  it  came,  how  it  b" 

managed,  and  how  spent.  Possibly  she  thought  that 
every  household  had  cooks  and  coachmen,  lady  s- 
niaids  and  footmen,  as  the  fields  have  hay  and  he 
trees  their  fruits.  To  her,  beggars  and  paupers  fallen 
trees  and  waste  lands  seemed  in  the  same  categ-ory. 
Pampered  and  petted  as  her  mother’s  hope,  no  fatigue 
was  allowed  to  spoil  her  pleasure.  Thus  bound  d 
through  life  as  a courser  on  his  steppe,  unbridled  and 

'^'^Six  months  after  Paul’s  arrival  the  Pink  of  Fashion 
and  the  Queen  of  Balls  met  in  presence  of  the  highest 
ociety  of  the  town  of  Bordeaux.  The  two  flowers 
loked  at  each  other  with  apparent  coldness,  and  mutu- 
,lly  thought  each  other  charming.  Intereste  m 
matching  the  effects  of  the  meeting,  Madame  Evaii- 
relista  divined  in  the  expression  of  Pauls  eyes  the 


22 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


feelings  within  him,  and  she  muttered  to  herself,  “ He 
will  be  my  son-in-law.’’  Paul,  on  the  other  hand,  said 
to  himself,  as  he  looked  at  Natalie,  She  will  be  my 
wife.” 

The  wealth  of  the  Evangelistas,  proverbial  in 
Bordeaux,  had  remained  in  Paul’s  mind  as  a memory  of 
his  childhood.  Thus  the  pecuniary  conditions  were 
known  to  him  from  the  start,  without  necessitating 
those  discussions  and  inquiries  which  are  as  repugnant 
to  a timid  mind  as  to  a proud  one.  When  some  per- 
sons attempted  to  say  to  Paul  a few  flattering  phrases 
as  to  Natalie’s  manner,  language,  and  beauty,  ending 
by  remarks,  cruelly  calculated  to  deter  him,  on  the 
lavish  extravagance  of  the  Evangelistas,  the  Pink 
of  Fashion  replied  with  a disdain  that  was  well- 
deserved  by  such  provincial  pettiness.  This  method  of 
receiving  such  speeches  soon  silenced  them ; for  he  now 
set  the  tone  to  the  ideas  and  language  as  well  as  to  the 
manners  of  those  about  him.  He  had  imported  from 
his  travels  a certain  development  of  the  Britannic  per- 
sonality with  its  icy  barriers,  also  a tone  of  Byronian 
pessimism  as  to  life,  together  with  English  plate, 
boot-polish,  ponies,  yellow  gloves,  cigars,  and  the  habit 
of  galloping. 

It  thus  happened  that  Paul  escaped  the  discourage- 
ments hitherto  presented  to  marriageable  men  by 
dowagers  and  young  girls.  Madame  Evangelista  be- 
gan by  asking  him  to  formal  dinners  on  various  occa- 
sions. The  Pink  of  Fashion  would  not,  of  course,  miss 
festivities  to  which  none  but  the  most  distinguished 
young  men  of  the  town  were  bidden.  In  spite  of  the 
coldness  that  Paul  assumed,  which  deceived  neither 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


23 


lothev  nor  daughter,  he  was  drawn,  step  by  step,  into 
le  path  of  marriage.  Sometimes  as  he  passed  in  his 
Ibury,  or  rode  by  on  his  fine  English  horse,  he  heard 
le  young  mien  of  his  acquaintance  say  to  one 
nother : — 

“ There ’s  a lucky  man.  He  is  rich  and^  handsome, 
nd  is  to  marry,  so  they  say.  Mademoiselle  Evangelista. 
:here  are  some  men  for  whom  the  world  seems  made.” 

When  he  met  the  Evangelistas  he  felt  proud  of  the 
, articular  distinction  which  mother  and  daughter  im- 
parted to  their  bows.  If  Paul  had  not  secretly,  within 
lis  heart,  fallen  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  Natalie, 
ociety  would  certainly  have  married  him  to  her  in  spite 
)f  himself.  Society,  which  never  causes  good,  is  the 
iccomplice  of  much  evil ; then  when  it  beholds  the  evil 
t has  hatched  maternally,  it  rejects  and  revenges  it. 
Society  in  Bordeaux,  attributing  a dot  of  a million  to 
IVIademoiselle  Evangelista,  bestowed  it  upon  Paul  with- 
out awaiting  the  consent  of  either  party.  Their  for- 
tunes, so  it  was  said,  agreed  as  well  as  their  persons. 
Paul  had  the  same  habits  of  luxury  and  elegance  in  the 
midst  of  which  Natalie, had  been  brought  up.  He  had 
ljust  arranged  for  himself  a house  such  as  no  other  man 
jin  Bordeaux  could  have  offered  her.  Accustomed  to 
Parisian  expenses  and  the  caprices  of  Parisian  women, 
he  alone  was  fitted  to  meet  the  pecuniary  dilHculties 
which  were  likely  to  follow  this  marriage  with  a girl 
who  was  as  much  of  a creole  and  a great  lady  as  her 
mother.  Where  they  themselves,  remarked  the  mar- 
riageable men,  would  have  been  ruined,  the  Comte  de 
Manerville,  rich  as  he  was,  could  evade  disaster.  In 
short,  the  marriage  was  made.  Persons  in  the  highest 


24 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


royalist  circles  said  a few  engaging  words  to  Pau 
which  flattered  his  vanity  : — 

Every  one  gives  you  Mademoiselle  Evangelista 
If  you  marry  her  you  will  do  well.  You  could  not  find 
even  in  Paris,  a more  delightful  girl.  She  is  beautiful, 
graceful,  elegant,  and  takes  after  the  Casa-Reales 
through  her  mother.  You  will  make  a charming 
couple ; you  have  the  same  tastes,  the  same  desires  ii 
life,  and  you  will  certainly  have  the  most  agreeabk 
house  in  Bordeaux.  Your  wife  need  only  bring  hei 
night-cap ; all  is  ready  for  her.  You  are  fortunate 
indeed  in  such  a mother-in-law.  A woman  of  intelli 
gence,  and  very  adroit,  she  will  be  a great  help  to  you 
in  public  life,  to  which  you  ought  to  aspire.  Besides, 
she  has  sacrificed  everything  to  her  daughter,  whom  she 
adores,  and  Natalie  will,  no  doubt,  prove  a good  wife, 
for  she  loves  her  mother.  You  must  soon  bring  the 
matter  to  a conclusion.”  * 

That  is  all  very  well,”  replied  Paul,  who,  in  spite 
of  his  love,  was  desirous  of  keeping  his  freedom  of 
action,  ‘‘but  I must  be  sure  that  the  conclusion  shall 
be  a happy  one.” 

He  now  went  frequently  to  Madame  Evangelista’s, 
partly  to  occupy  his  vacant  hours,  which  were  harder 
for  him  to  employ  than  for  most  men.  There  alone  he 
breathed  the  atmosphere  of  grandeur  and  luxury  to 
which  he  was  accustomed. 

At  forty  years  of  age,  Madame  Evangelista  was 
beautiful,  ^with  the  beauty  of  those  glorious  summei 
sunsets  which  crown  a cloudless  day.  Her  spotles^ 
reputation  had  given  an  endless  topic  of  conversation 
to  the  Bordeaux  cliques ; the  curiosity  of  the  women 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


25 


yas  all  the  more  lively  because  the  widow  gave  signs 
.f  the  temperament  which  makes  a Spanish  woman  and 
, creole  particularly  noted.  She  had  black  eyes  and 
lair,  the  feet  and  form  of  a Spanish  woman,  — that 
waying  form  the  movements  of  which  have  a name  in 
^pain.  Her  face,  still  beautiful,  was  particularly  se- 
luctive  for  its  creole  complexion,  the  vividness  of 
v^hich  can  be  described  only  by  comparing  it  to  muslin 
Werlying  crimson,  so  equally  is  the  whiteness  suffused 
vith  color.  Her  figure,  which  was  full  and  founded, 
Lttracted  the  eye  by  a grace  which  united  nonchalance 
vith  vivacity,  strength  with  ease.  She  attracted  and 
;he  imposed,  she  seduced,  but  promised  nothing.  She 
vas  tall,  which  gave  her  at  times  the  air  and  carriage 
)f  a queen.  Men  were  taken  by  her  conversation  like 
Dirds  in  a snare  ] for  she  had  by  nature  that  genius 
vhich  necessity  bestows  on  schemers;  she  advanced 
I'rom  concession  to  concession,  strengthening  herself 
vith  what  she  gained  to  ask  for  more,  knowing  well 
aow  to  retreat  with  rapid  steps  when  concessions  were 
demanded  in  return.  Though  ignorant  of  facts,  she 
iaad  known  the  courts  of  Spain  and  Naples,  the  cele- 
Ibrated  men  of  the  two  Americas,  many  illustrious 
iljamilies  of  England  and  the  continent,  all  of  which 
igave  her  so  extensive  an  education  superficially  that  it 
ijseemed  immense.  She  received  her  society  with  the 
[grace  and  dignity  which  are  never  learned,  but  which 
come  to  certain  naturally  fine  spirits  like  a second 
nature;  assimilating  choice  things  wherever  they  are 
met.  If  her  reputation  for  virtue  was  unexplained, 
it  gave  at  any  rate  much  authority  to  her  actions,  het 
conversation,  and  her  character. 


26 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Mother  and  daughter  had  a true  friendship  for  eact 
other,  beyond  the  filial  and  maternal  sentiment.  The^ 
suited  one  another,  and  their  perpetual  contact  hac 
never  produced  the  slightest  jar.  Consequently  mam 
persons  explained  Madame  Evangelista’s  actions 
maternal  love.  But  although  Natalie  consoled  hei 
mother’s  persistent  widowhood,  she  may  not  have 
been  the  only  motive  for  it.  Madame  Evangelista  hac 
been,  it  was  said,  in  love  with  a man  who  recovered  his 
titles  and  property  under  the  Restoration.  This  man, 
desirous  of  marrying  her  in  1814  had  discreetly  sev- 
ered the  connection  in  1816.  Madame  Evangelista,  to 
all  appearance  the  best-hearted  woman  in  the  world, 
had,  in  the  depths  of  her  nature,  a fearful  quality,  ex- 
plainable only  by  Catherine  de  Medici’s  device : Odiate 
e aspettate  — ‘‘  Hate  and  wait.”  Accustomed  to  rule, 
having  always  been  obeyed,  she  was  like  other  royalties, 
amiable,  gentle,  easy  and  pleasant  in  ordinary  life, 
but  terrible,  implacable,  if  the  pride  of  the  woman,  the 
Spaniard,  and  the  Casa-Reale  was  touched.  She  never 
forgave.  This  woman  believed  in  the  power  of  her 
hatred ; she  made  an  evil  fate  of  it  and  bade  it  hover 
above  her  enemy.  This  fatal  power  she  employed 
against  the  man  who  had  jilted  her.  Events  which 
seemed  to  prove  the  influence  of  her  jettatura  — the 
casting  of  an  evil  eye  — confirmed  her  superstitious 
faith  in  herself.  Though  a minister  and  peer  of 
France,  this  man  began  to  ruin  himself,  and  soon  came 
to  total  ruin.  His  property,  his  personal  and  public 
honor  were  doomed  to  perish.  At  this  crisis  Madame 
Evangelista  in  her  brilliant  equipage  passed  her  faith- 
less lover  walking  on  foot  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


27 


rushed  him  with  a look  which  flamed  with  triumph. 
:his  misadventure,  which  occupied  her  mind  for  two 
-ears,  was  the  original  cause  of  her  not  remarrying, 
jater,  her  pride  had  drawn  comparisons  between  the 
.uitors  who  presented  themselves  and  the  husband  who 
lad  loved  her  so  sincerely  and  so  well. 

She  had  thus  reached,  through  mistaken  calculations 
lind  disappointed  hopes,  that  period  of  life  when 
vomen  have  no  other  part  to  take  in  life  than  that  of 
nother;  a part  which  involves  the  sacrifice  of  them- 
jelves  to  their  children,  the  placing  of  their  interests 
butside  of  self  upon  another  household,  — the  last 
refuge  of  human  affections. 

Madame  Evangelista  divined  Paul  s nature  intui- 
Lively,  and  hid  her  own  from  his  perception.  Paul 
was  the  very  man  she  desired  for  a son-in-law,  for  the 
responsible  editor  of  her  future  power.  He  belonged, 
Ithrough  his  mother,  to  the  family  of  Maulincour,  and 
the  old  Baronne  de  Maulincour,  the  friend  of  the 
Vidame  de  Pamiers,  was  then  living  in  the  centre  of  the 
faubourg  Saint-Grermain.  Xhe  grandson  of  the  baron- 
ess, Auguste  de  Maulincour,  held  a fine  position  in  the 
army.  Paul  would  therefore  be  an  excellent  introducer 
for  the  ^Evangelistas  into  Parisian  society . The  widow 
had  known  something  of  the  Paris  of  the  Empire,  she 
now  desired  to  shine  in  the  Paris  of  the  Restoration. 
There  alone  were  the  elements  of  political  fortune,  the 
only  business  in  which  women  of  the  world  could  de- 
cently co-operate.  Madame  Evangelista,  compelled  by 
her  husband’s  affairs  to  reside  in  Bordeaux,  disliked 
the  place.  She  desired  a wider  field,  as  gamblers  rush 
to  higher  stakes.  For  her  own  personal  ends,  therefore. 


28 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


she  looked  to  Paul  as  a means  of  destiny,  she  propose* 
to  employ  the  resources  of  her  own  talent  and  knowl 
edge  of  life  to  advance  her  son-in-law,  in  order  to  en 
joy  through  him  the  delights  of  power.  Many  men  ar* 
thus  made  the  screens  of  secret  feminine  ambitions.  Ma 
dame  Evangelista  had,  however,  more  than  one  interest 
as  we  shall  see,  in  laying  hold  of  her  daughter’s  husband 

Paul  was  naturally  captivated  by  this  woman,  whc 
charmed  him  all  the  more  because  she  seemed  to  sect 
no  influence  over  him.  In  reality  she  was  using  her  as* 
cendency  to  magnify  herself,  her  daughter,  and  all  hei 
surroundings  in  his  eyes,  for  the  purpose  of  ruling  from 
the  start  the  man  in  whom  she  saw  a means  of  gratifying 
her  social  longings.  Paul,  on  the  other  hand,  began  to 
value  himself  more  highly  when  he  felt  himself  appre- 
ciated by  the  mother  and  daughter.  He  thought  him- 
self much  cleverer  than  he  really  was  when  he  found 
his  reflections  and  sayings  accepted  and  understood 
by  Mademoiselle  Natalie  — who  raised  her  head  and 
smiled  in  response  to  them  — and  by  the  mother,  whose 
flattery  seemed  always  involuntary.  The  two  women 
were  so  kind  and  friendly  to  him,  he  was  so  sure  of 
pleasing  them,  they  ruled  him  so  delightfully  by  hold- 
ing the  thread  of  his  self-love,  that  he  soon  passed  all 
his  time  at  the  hotel  Evangelista. 

A year  after  his  return  to  Bordeaux,  Comte  Paul, 
without  having  declared  himself,  was  so  attentive  to 
Natalie  that  the  world  considered  him  as  courting  her. 
Neither  mother  nor  daughter  appeared  to  be  thinking 
of  marriage.  Mademoiselle  Evangelista  preserved 
towards  Paul  the  reserve  of  a great  lady  who  can 
^ake  herself  charming  and  converse  agreeably  without 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


29 


ermitting  a single  step  into  intimacy.  This  reserve, 

0 little  customary  among  provincials,  pleased  Paul 
nmensely.  Timid  men  are  shy ; sudden  proposals 
larm  them.  They  retreat  from  happiness  when  it 
omes  with  a rush,  and  accept  misfortune  if  it  pre- 
ents  itself  mildly  with  gentle  shadows.  Paul  there- 
ore  committed  himself  in  his  own  mind  all  the  more 
)ecause  he  saw  no  effort  on  Madame  Evangelista  s 
)art  to  bind  him.  She  fairly  seduced  him  one  evening 
)y  remarking  that  to  superior  women  as  well  as  men 
here  came  a period  of  life  when  ambition  superseded 
dl  the  earlier  emotions  of  life. 

' “ That  woman  is  fitted,"’  thought  Paul,  as  he  left  her, 

to  advance  me  in  diplomacy  before  I am  even  made 

1 deputy.” 

If,  in  all  the  circumstances  of  life  a man  does  not 
:urn  over  and  over  both  things  and  ideas  in  order  to 
jxamine  them  thoroughly  under  their  different  aspects 
before  taking  action,  that  man  is  weak  and  incomplete 
and  in  danger  of  fatal  failure.  At  this  moment  Paul 
was  an  optimist ; he  saw  everything  to  advantage,  and 
did  not  tell  himself  that  an  ambitious  mother-in-law 
might  prove  a tyrant.  So,  every  evening  as  he  left  the 
house,  he  fancied  himself  a married  man,  allured  his 
mind  with  its  own  thought,  and  slipped  on  the  slippers 
of  wedlock  cheerfully.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  en- 
joyed his  freedom  too  long  to  regret  the  loss  of  it ; he 
was  tired  of  a bachelor’s  life,  which  offered  him  nothing 
new ; he  now  saw  only  its  annoyances ; whereas  if  he 
thought  at  times  of  the  difficulties  of  marriage,  its 
pleasures,  in  which  lay  novelty,  came  far  more  piomi 
nently  before  his  mind. 


30 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


“ Marriage/’  he  said  to  himself,  is  disagreeable 
for  people  without  means,  but  half  its  troubles  disap 
pear  before  wealth.” 

Every  day  some  favorable  consideration  swelled 
the  advantages  which  he  now  saw  in  this  particulai 
alliance. 

‘‘No  matter  to  what  position  I attain,  Natalie  will 
always  be  on  the  level  of  her  part,”  thought  he,  “ and 
that  is  no  small  merit  in  a woman.  How  many  of  the 
Empire  men  I ’ve  seen  who  suffered  horribly  througlj 
their  wives  ! It  is  a great  condition  of  happiness  no< 
to  feel  one’s  pride  or  one’s  vanity  wounded  by  the  com-j 
panion  we  have  chosen.  A man  can  never  be  really 
unhappy  with  a well-bred  wife ; she  will  never  make 
him  ridiculous ; such  a woman  is  certain  to  be  useful 
to  him.  Natalie  will  receive  in  her  own  house 
admirably.” 

So  thinking,  he  taxed  his  memory  as  to  the  most 
distinguished  women  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain, 
in  order  to  convince  himself  that  Natalie  could,  if  not 
eclipse  them,  at  any  rate  stand  among  them  on  a foot- 
ing of  perfect  equality.  All  comparisons  were  to  her 
advantage,  for  they  rested  on  his  own  imagination, 
which  followed  his  desires.  Paris  would  have  shown 
him  daily  other  natures,  young  girls  of  other  styles  of 
beauty  and  charm,  and  the  multiplicity  of  impressions 
would  have  balanced  his  mind ; whereas  in  Bordeaux 
Natalie  had  no  rivals,  she  was  the  solitary  flower; 
moreover,  she  appeared  to  him  at  a moment  when 
Paul  was  under  the  tyranny  of  an  idea  to  which  most 
men  succumb  at  his  age. 

Thus  these  reasons  of  propinquity,  joined  to  reasons 


31 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

)f  self-love  and  a real  passion  which  had  no  means  of 
satisfaction  except  by  marriage,  led  Paul  on  to  an 
rrational  love,  which  he  had,  however,  the  good  sense 
so  keep  to  himself.  He  even  endeavored  to  study 
Mademoiselle  Evangelista  as  a man  should  who  de- 
sires not  to  compromise  his  future  life ; for  the  words 
Df  his  friend  de  Marsay  did  sometimes  rumble  in  his 
ears  like  a warning.  But,  in  the  first  place,  persons 
accustomed  to  luxury  have  a certain  indifference  to  it 
which  misleads  them.  They  despise  it,  they  use  it ; it  is 
an  instrument,  and  not  the  object  of  their  existence. 
Paul  never  imagined,  as  he  observed  the  habits  of  life 
of  the  two  ladies,  that  they  covered  a gulf  of  rum. 
Then,  though  there  may  exist  some  general  rules  to 
soften  the  asperities  of  marriage,  there  are  none  by 
which  they  can  be  accurately  foreseen  and  evaded. 
When  trouble  arises  between  two  persons  who  have 
undertaken  to  render  life  agreeable  and  easy  to  each 
other,  it  comes  from  the  contact  of  continual  intimacy, 
which,  of  course,  does  not  exist  between  young  people 
i before  they  marry,  and  will  never  exist  so  long  as  our 
present  social  laws  and  customs  prevail  in  France.  All 
is  more  or  less  deception  between  the  two  young  pei- 
sons  about  to  take  each  other  for  life,  — an  innocent 
and  involuntary  deception,  it  is  true.  Each  endeavors 
to  appear  in  a favorable  light ; both  take  a tone  and 
attitude  conveying  a more  favorable  idea  of  their 
nature  than  they  are  able  to  maintain  in  after  years. 
Real  life,  like  the  weather,  is  made  up  of  gray  and 
cloudy  days  alternating  with  those  when  the  sun  shines 
and  the  fields  are  gay.  Young  people,  however,  ex- 
hibit fine  weather  and  no  clouds.  Later  they  attribute 


32 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


to  marriage  the  evils  inherent  in  life  itself ; for  there  is 
in  man  a disposition  to  lay  the  blame  of  his  own  miserj 
on  the  persons  and  things  that  surround  him. 

To  discover  in  the  demeanor,  or  the  countenance, 
or  the  words,  or  the  gestures  of  Mademoiselle  Evange- 
lista any  indication  that  revealed  the  imperfections  of 
her  character,  Paul  must  have  possessed  not  only  the 
knowledge  of  Lavater  and  Gall,  but  also  a science  in 
which  there  exists  no  formula  of  doctrine,  — the  indi- 
vidual and  personal  science  of  an  observer,  which,  for 
its  perfection,  requires  an  almost  universal  knowledge. 
Natalie  s face,  like  that  of  most  young  girls,  was  im- 
penetrable. The  deep,  serene  peace  given  by  sculptors 
to  the  virgin  faces  of  Justice  and  Innocence,  divinities 
aloof  from  all  earthly  agitations,  is  the  greatest  charm 
of  a young  girl,  the  sign  of  her  purity.  Nothing,  as 
yet,  has  stirred  her ; no  shattered  passion,  no  hope 
betrayed  has'  clouded  the  placid  expression  of  that 
pure  face.  Is  that  expression  assumed?  If  so,  there 
is  no  young  girl  behind  it. 

Natalie,  closely  held  to  the  heart  of  her  mother,  had  1 
received,  like  other  Spanish  women,  an  education  that 
was  solely  religious,  together  with  a few  instructions 
from  her  mother  as  to  the  part  in  life  she  was  called 
upon  to  play.  Consequently,  the  calm,  untroubled  ex- 
pression of  her  face  was  natural.  And  yet  it  formed  a 
casing  in  which  the  woman  was  wrapped  as  the  moth 
in  its  cocoon.  Nevertheless,  any  man  clever  at  hand- 
ling the  scalpel  of  analysis  might  have  detected  in 
Natalie  certain  indications  of  the  difficulties  her  char- 
acter would  present  when  brought  into  contact  with 
conjugal  or  social  life.  Her  beauty,  which  was  really 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


33 


aarvellpus,  came  from  extreme  regularity  of  feature 
larmonizing  with  the  proportions  of  the  head  and  the 
)ody.  This  species  of  perfection  augurs  ill  for  the 
nind ; and  there  are  few  exceptions  to  the  rule.  All 
iuperior  nature  is  found  to  have  certain  slight  imper^ 
ections  of  form  which  become  irresistible  attractions, 
urninous  points  from  which  shine  vivid  sentiments, 
ind  on  which  the  eye  rests  gladly.  Perfect  harmony 
expresses  usually  the  coldness  of  a mixed  organization. 

Natalie’s  waist  was  round,  — a sign  of  strength,  but 
ilso  the  infallible  indication  of  a will  which  becomes 
)bstinacy  in  persons  whose  mind  is  neither  keen  noi 
[)road.  Her  hands,  like  those  of  a Greek  statue,  con- 
Armed  the  predictions  of  face  and  figure  by  revealing 
an  inclination  for  illogical  domination,  of  willing  for 
will’s  sake  only.  Her  eyebrows  met , — a sign,  accord- 
ing to  some  observers,  which  indicates  jealousy.  The 
jealousy  of  superior  minds  becomes  emulation  and 
leads  to  great  things;  that  of  small  minds  turns  to 
hatred.  The  ‘‘  hate  and  wait”  of  her  mother  was  in 
her  nature,  without  disguise.  Her  eyes  were  black  ap- 
parently, though  really  brown  with  orange  streaks, 
contrasting  with  her  hair,  of  the  ruddy  tint  so  prized 
by  the  Romans,  called  auburn  in  England,  a color 
which  often  appears  in  the  offspring  of  persons  of 
jet  black  hair,  like  that  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Evangelista.  The  whiteness  and  delicacy  of  Natalie  s 
complexion  gave  to  the  contrast  of  color  in  her  eyes 
and  hair  .an  inexpressible  charm ; and  yet  it  was  a 
charm  that  was  purely  external;  for  whenever  the 
line's  of  a face  are  lacking  in  a certain  soft  roundness, 
whatever  may  be  the  finish  and  grace  of  the  details,  the 

3 


34 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


beauty  therein  expressed  is  not  of  the  soul.  These 
roses  of  deceptive  youth  will  drop  their  leaves,  and  you 
will  be  surprised  in  a few  years  to  see  hardness  and 
dryness  where  you  once  admired  what  seemed  to  be 
the  beauty  of  noble  qualities. 

Though  the  outlines  of  Natalie’s  face  had  something 
august  about  them,  her  chin  was  slightly  empdte^  — a 
painter’s  expression  which  will  serve  to  show  the  exist- 
ence of  sentiments  the  violence  of  which  would  only 
become  manifest  in  after  life.  Her  mouth,  a trifle 
drawn  in,  expressed  a haughty  pride  in  keeping  with 
her  hand,  her  chin,  her  brows,  and  her  beautiful  figure. 
And  — as  a last  diagnostic  to  guide  the  judgment  of  a 
connoisseur — Natalie’s  pure  voice,  a most  seductive 
voice,  had  certain  metallic  tones.  Softly  as  that  brassy 
ring  was  managed,  and  in  spite  of  the  grace  with  which 
its  sounds  ran  through  the  compass  of  the  voice,  that 
organ  revealed  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Alba,  from 
whom  the  Casa-Reales  were  collaterally  descended. 
These  indications  were  those  of  violent  passions  with- 
out tenderness,  sudden  devotions,  irreconcilable  dis- 
likes, a mind  without  intelligence,  and  the  desire  to 
rule  natural  to  persons  who  feel  themselves  inferior 
to  their  pretensions. 

These  defects,  born  of  temperament  and  constitu- 
tion, were  buried  in  Natalie  like  ore  in  a mine,  and 
would  only  appear  under  the  shocks  and  harsh  treat- 
ment to  which  all  characters  are  subjected  in  this 
world.  Meantime  the  grace  and  freshness  of  her 
youth,  the  distinction  of  her  manners,  her  sacred  igno- 
rance, and  the  sweetness  of  a young  girl,  gave  a deli- 
cate glamour  to  her  features  which  could  not  fail  to 


85 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

mislead  an  unthinking  or  superficial  mind.  Her  mother 
had  early  taught  her  the  trick  of  agreeable  talk  which 
appears  to  imply  superiority,  replying  to  arguments  by 
clever  jests,  and  attracting  by  the  graceful  volubility 
beneath  which  a woman  hides  the  subsoil  of  her  mind, 
as  Nature  disguises  her  barren  strata  beneath  a wealth 
of  ephemeral  vegetation.  Natalie  had  the  charm  of 
children  who  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  suffer. 
She  charmed  by  her  frankness,  and  had  none  of  that 
solemn  air  which  mothers  impose  on  their  daughters  by 
laying  down  a programme  of  behavior  and  language 
until  the  time  comes  when  they  marry  and  are  emanci- 
pated. She  was  gay  and  natural,  like  any  young  girl 
who  knows  nothing  of  marriage,  expects  only  pleasure 
from  it,  replies  to  all  objections  with  a jest,  foresees 
no  troubles,  and  thinks  she  is  acquiring  the  right  to 
have  her  own  way. 

How  could  Paul,  who  loved  as  men  love  when  desire 
increases  love,  perceive  in  a girl  of  this  nature  whose 
beauty  dazzled  him,  the  woman,  such  as  she  would 
probably  be  at  thirty,  when  observers  themselves  have 
been  misled  by  these  appearances?  Besides,  if  hap- 
piness might  prove  difficult  to  find  in  a marriage  with 
such  a girl,  it  was  not  impossible.  Through  these 
embryo  defects  shone  several  fine  qualities.  There  is 
no  good  quality  which,  if  properly  developed  by  the 
band  of  an  able  master,  will  not  stifle  defects,  especially 
in  a young  girl  who  loves  him.  But  to  render  ductile 
80  intractable  a woman,  the  iron  wrist,  about  which  de 
Marsay  had  preached  to  Paul,  was  needful.  The 
Parisian  dandy  was  right.  Fear,  inspired  by  love 
is  an  infallible  instrument  by  which  to  manage  the 


86 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


minds  of  women.  Whoso  loves,  fears ; whoso  fears  is 
nearer  to  affection  than  to  hatred. 

Had  Paul  the  coolness,  firmness,  and  judgment  re- 
quired for  this  struggle,  which  an  able  husband  ought 
not  to  let  the  wife  suspect?  Did  Natalie  love  Paul? 
Like  most  young  girls,  Natalie  mistook  for  love  the 
first  emotions  of  instinct  and  the  pleasure  she  felt  in 
Paul’s  external  appearance ; but  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  things  of  marriage  nor  the  demands  of  a home.  To 
her,  the  Comte  de  Manerville,  a rising  diplomatist,  to 
whom  the  courts  of  Europe  were  known,  and  one  of  the 
most  elegant  young  men  in  Paris,  could  not  seem,  what 
perhaps  he  was,  an  ordinary  man,  without  moral  force, 
timid,  though  brave  in  some  ways,  energetic  perhaps 
in  adversity,  but  helpless  against  the  vexations  and 
annoyances  that  hinder  happiness.  Would  she,  in  after 
years,  have  sufficient  tact  and  insight  to  distinguish 
Paul’s  noble  qualities  in  the  midst  of  his  minor  defects? 
Would  she  not  magnify  the  latter  and  forget  the  former, 
after  the  manner  of  young  wives  who  know  nothing  of 
life?  There  comes  a time  when  wives  will  pardon  de- 
fects in  the  husband  who  spares  her  annoyances,  con- 
sidering annoyances  in  the  same  category  as  misfor- 
tunes. What  conciliating  power,  what  wise  experience 
would  uphold  and  enlighten  the  home  of  this  young 
pair?  Paul  and  his  wife  would  doubtless  think  they 
loved  when  they  had  really  not  advanced  beyond  the 
endearments  and  compliments  of  the  honeymoon. 
Would  Paul  in  that  early  period  yield  to  the  tyranny 
of  his  wife,  instead  of  establishing  his  empire  ? Could 
Paul  say.  No?  All  was  peril  to  a man  so  weak  where 
even  a strong  man  ran  some  risks. 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


37 


' The  subject  of  this  Study  is  not  the  transition  of  a 
ibachelor  into  a married  man,  — a picture  which,  if 
broadly  composed,  would  not  lack  the  attraction  which 
jthe  inner  struggles  of  our  nature  and  feelings  give  to 
jthe  commonest  situations  in  life.  The  events  and  the 
ideas  which  led  to  the  marriage  of  Paul  with  Natalie 
Evangelista  are  an  introduction  to  our  real  subject, 
which  is  to  sketch  the  great  comedy  that  precedes,  in 
i France,  all  conjugal  pairing.  This  Scene,  until  now 
singularly  neglected  by  our  dramatic  authors  although 
it  offers  novel  resources  to  their  wit,  controlled^  Paul’s 
future  life  and  was  now  awaited  by  Madame  Evange- 
lista with  feelings  of  terror.  We  mean  the  discussion 
I which  takes  place  on  the  subject  of  the  marriage  con- 
I tract  in  all  families,  whether  noble  or  bourgeois,  for 
I human  passions  are  as  keenly  excited  by  small  interests 
i as  by  large  ones.  These  comedies,  played  before  a 
i notary,  all  resemble,  more  or  less,  the  one  we  shall 
I now  relate,  the  interest  of  which  will  be  far  less  in  the 
pages  of  this  book  than  in  the  memories  of  married 
persons. 


38 


The  Marriage  QontracU 


III 

THE  MARRIAGE  CONTRACT  — FIRST  DAY. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  winter  of  1822,  Paul  de 
Manerville  made  a formal  request,  through  his  great- 
aunt,  the  Baronne  de  Maulincour,  for  the  hand  of 
Mademoiselle  Natalie  Evangelista.  Though  the  baron- 
ess never  stayed  more  than  two  months  in  Medoc,  she 
remained  on  this  occasion  till  the  ‘last  of  October,  in 
order  to  assist  her  nephew  through  the  affair  and  play 
the  part  of  a mother  to  him.  After  conveying  the  first 
suggestions  to  Madame  Evangelista  the  experienced 
old  woman  returned  to  inform  Paul  of  the  results  of  the 
overture. 

“My  child,”  she  said,  “ the  affair  is  won.  In  talk- 
ing of  property,  I found  that  Madame  Evangelista 
gives  nothing  of  her  own  to  her  daughter.  Made- 
moiselle Natalie’s  dowry  is  her  patrimony.  Marry  her, 
my  dear  boy.  Men  who  have  a name  and  an  estate 
to  transmit,  a family  to  continue,  must,  sooner  or  later, 
end  in  marriage.  I wish  I could  see  my  dear  Auguste 
taking  that  course.  You  can  now  carry  on  the  mar- 
riage without  me  ; I have  nothing  to  give  you  but  my 
blessing,  and  women  as  old  as  I are  out  of  place  at  a 
wedding.  I leave  for  Paris  to-morrow.  When  you 
present  your  wife  in  society  I shall  be  able  to  see  her 
and  assist  her  far  more  to  the  purpose  than  now.  If 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


39 


you  had  had  no  liouse  in  Paris  I would  gladly  have 
arranged  the  second  floor  of  mine  for  you.” 

“ Dear  aunt,”  said  Paul,  “ I thank  you  heartily. 
But  what  do  you  mean  when  you  say  that  the  mother 
gives  nothing  of  her  own,  and  that  the  daughter’s  dowry 
is  her  patrimony  ? ” 

“The  mother,  my  dear  boy,  is  a sly  cat,  who 
takes  advantage  of  her  daughter’s  beauty  to  impose 
conditions  and  allow  you  only  that  which  she  can- 
not prevent  you  from  having ; namely,  the  daughter’s 
fortune  from  her  father.  We  old  people  know  the  im- 
portance of  inquiring  closely.  What  has  he?  What 
has  she?  I advise  you  therefore  to  give  particular  in- 
structions to  your  notary.  The  marriage  contract, 
my  dear  child,  is  the  most  sacred  of  all  duties.  If 
your  father  and  your  mother  had  not  made  their  bed 
properly  you  might  now  be  sleeping  without  sheets. 
You  will  have  children,  they  are  the  commonest  results 
of  marriage,  and  you  must  think  of  them.  Consult 
Maitre  Mathias  our  old  notary.” 

Madame  de  Maulincour  departed,  having  plunged 
Paul  into  a state  of  extreme  perplexity.  His  mother- 
in-law  a sly  cat ! Must  he  struggle  for  his  interests 
in  the  marriage  contract?  Was  it  necessary  to  defend 
them?  Who  was  likely  to  attack  them? 

He  followed  the  advice  of  his  aunt  and  confided  the 
drawing-up  of  the  maiTiage  contract  to  Maitre  Mathias. 
But  these  threatened  discussions  oppressed  him,  and  he 
went  to  see  Madame  Evangelista  and  announce  his  in- 
tentions in  a state  of  rather  lively  agitation.  Like  all 
timid  men,  he  shrank  from  allowing  the  distrust  his 
aunt  had  put  into  his  mind  to  be  seen ; in  fact,  he  con- 


40 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


sidered  it  insulting.  To  avoid  even  a slight  jar  with  j 
person  so  imposing  to  his  mind  as  his  future  mother-iu' 
law,  he  proceeded  to  state  his  intentions  with  the  cir- 
cumlocution natural  to  persons  who  dare  not  face  s 
difficulty. 

“ Madame,”  he  said,  choosing  a moment  when  Natalie 
was  absent  from  the  room,  “you  know,  of  course, 
what  a family  notary  is.  Mine  is  a worthy  old  man,  to 
whom  it  would  be  a sincere  grief  if  he  were  not  in 
trusted  with  the  drawing  of  my  marriage  contract.” 

“Why,  of  coui’se ! ” said  Madame  Evangelista,  in- 
terrupting him,  “ but  are  not  marriage  contracts  always 
made  by  agreement  of  the  notaries  of  both  families?” 

The  time  that  Paul  took  to  reply  to  this  question 
was  occupied  by  Madame  Evangelista  in  asking  her- 
self, “ What  is  he  thinking  of?  ” for  women  possess  in 
an  eminent  degree  the  art  of  reading  thoughts  from  the 
play  of  countenance.  She  divined  the  instigations  of 
the  great-aunt  in  the  embarrassed  glance  and  the  agi- 
tated tone  of  voice  which  betrayed  an  inward  struggle 
in  Paul’s  mind. 

“At  last,”  she  thought  to  herself,  “the  fatal  day 
has  come;  the  crisis  begins  — how  will  it  end?  My 
notary  is  Monsieur  Solonet,”  she  said,  after  a pause. 
“ Yours,  I think  you  said,  is  Monsieur  Mathias ; I will 
invite  them  to  dinner  to-morrow,  and  they  can  come  to 
an  understanding  then.  It  is  their  business  to  concili- 
ate our  interests  without  our  interference ; just  as  good 
cooks  are  expected  to  furnish  good  food  without 
instructions.” 

“ Yes,  you  are  right,”  said  Paul,  letting  a faint 
sigh  of  relief  escape  him. 


The  (JoThtTCLCt*  41 

: By  a singular  transposition  of  parts,  Paul,  innocent  of 
11  wrong-doing,  trembled,  while  Madame  Evangelista, 
hough  a prey  to  the  utmost  anxiety,  was  outwardly 
i:alm. 

The  widow  owed  her  daughter  one-third  of  the  tor- 
une  left  by  Monsieur  ^Evangelista,  — namely,  nearly 
welve  hundred  thousand  francs,  — and  she  knew  herself 
in  able  to  pay  it,  even  by  taking  the  whole  of  her  prop- 
srty  to  do  so.  She  would  therefore  be  placed  at  the 
nercy  of  a son-in-law.  Though  she  might  be  able  to 
jontrol  Paul  if  left  to  himself,  would  he,  when  enlight- 
med  by  his  notary,  agree  to  release  her  from  rendering 
aer  account  as  guardian  of  her  daughter’s  patrimony? 
If  Paul  withdrew  his  proposals  all  Bordeaux  would  know 
the  reason  and  Natalie’s  future  marriage  would  be  made 
impossible.  This  mother,  who  desired  the  happiness  . 
of  her  daughter,  this  woman,  who  from  infancy  had 
lived  honorably,  was  aware  that  on  the  morrow  she 
must  become  dishonest.  Like  those  great  warriois 
who  fain  would  blot  from  their  lives  the  moment  when 
they  had  felt  a secret  cowardice,  she  ardently  desired 
I to  cut  this  inevitable  day  from  the  record  of  hers. 
Most  assuredly  some  hairs  on  her  head  must  have 
whitened  during  the  night,  when,  face  to  face  with 
I facts,  she  bitterly  regretted  her  extravagance  as  she 
lelt  the  hard  necessities  of  the  situation. 

Among  these  necessities  was  that  of  confiding  the 
truth  to  her  notary,  for  whom  she  sent  in  the  morning 
as  soon  as  she  rose.  She  was  forced  to  reveal  to  him 
a secret  defaulting  she  had  never  been  willing  to  admit 
to  herself,  for  she  had  steadily  advanced  to  the  abyss, 
relying  on  some  chance  accident,  which  never  hap 


42 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


pened,  to  relieve  her.  There  rose  in  her  soul  a feelinf 
against  Paul,  that  was  neither  dislike,  nor  aversion,  noi 
anything,  as  yet,  unkind ; but  he  was  the  cause  of  thii 
crisis;  the  opposing  party  in  this  secret  suit;  he  be 
came,  without  knowing  it,  an  innocent  enemy  she  was 
forced  to  conquer.  What  human  being  did  ever  yei 
love  his  or  her  dupe  ? Compelled  to  deceive  and  tricii 
him  if  she  could,  the  Spanish  woman  resolved,  like 
other  women,  to  put  her  vfhole  force  of  character  into 
the  struggle,  the  dishonor  of  which  could  be  absolved 
by  victory  only. 

In  the  stillness  of  the  night  she  excused  her  conduct 
to  her  own  mind  by  a tissue  of  arguments  in  which  her 
pride  predominated.  Natalie  had  shared  the  benefit 
of  her  extravagance.  There  was  not  a single  base  or 
ignoble  motive  in  what  she  had  done.  She  was  no 
accountant,  but  was  that  a crime,  a delinquency?  A 
man  was  only  too  lucky  to  obtain  a wife  like  Natalie 
without  a penny.  Such  a treasure  bestowed  upon  him 
might  surely  release  her  from  a guardianship  account. 
How  many  men  had  bought  the  women  they  loved  by 
greater  sacrifices  ? Why  should  a man  do  less  for  a wife 
than  for  a mistress?  Besides,  Paul  was  a nullity,  a 
man  of  no  force,  incapable ; she  would  spend  the  best 
resources  of  her  mind  upon  him  and  open  to  him  a fine 
career ; he  should  owe  his  future  power  and  position  to 
her  influence ; in  that  way  she  could  pay  her  debt.  He 
would  indeed  be  a fool  to  refuse  such  a future ; and  for 
what?  a few  paltry  thousands,  more  or  less.  He 
would  be  infamous  if  he  withdrew  for  such  a reason. 

‘‘But,”  she  added,  to  herself,  “if  the  negotiation 
does  not  succeed  at  once,  I shall  leave  Bordeaux.  J 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


43 


itt  still  find  a good  marriage  for  Natalie  by  investing 
3 proceeds  of  what  is  left,  house  and  diamonds  and 
rniture,  — keeping  only  a small  income  for  myself.” 
When  a strong  soul  constructs  a way  of  ultimate 
3ape,  — as  Richelieu  did  at  Brouage,  — and  holds  in 
serve  a vigorous  end,  the  resolution  becomes  a lever 
iiich  strengthens  its  immediate  way.  The  thought  of 
is  finale  in  case  of  failure  comforted  Madame  Evan- 
tlista,  who  fell  asleep  with  all  the  more  confidence  as 
le  remembered  her  assistant  in  the  coming  duel. 

This  was  a young  man  named  Solonet,  considered  the 
)lest  notary  in  Bordeaux;  now  twenty-seven  years 

age  and  decorated  with  the  Legion  of  honor  for 
iving  actively  contributed  to  the  second  return  of  the 
Durbons.  Proud  and  happy  to  be  received  in  the 
)me  of  Madame  Evangelista,  less  as  a notary  than  as 
ilonging  to  the  royalist  society  of  Bordeaux,  Solonet 
id  conceived  for  that  fine  setting  sun  one  of  those 
issions  which  women  like  Madame  Evangelista  re- 
vise, although  fiattered  and  graciously  allowing  them 
i exist  upon  the  surface.  Solonet  remained  therefore  in 
self-satisfied  condition  of  hope  and  becoming  respect, 
eing  sent  for,  he  arrived  the  next  morning  with  the 
romptitude  of  a slave  and  was  received  by  the  coquet- 
sh  widow  in  her  bedroom,  where  she  allowed  him  to 
nd  her  in  a very  becoming  dishabille. 

“ Can  I,”  she  said,  “ count  upon  your  discretion  and 
our  entire  devotion  in  a discussion  which  will  take  place 
1 my  house  this  evening?  You  will  readily  understand 
lat  it  relates  to  the  marriage  of  my  daughter.” 

The  young  man  expended  himself  in  gallant  protes 
itions. 


44 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Now  to  the  point,’’  she  said. 

‘‘  I am  listening,”  he  replied,  checking  his  ardor 

Madame  Evangelista  then  stated  her  positic 
baldly. 

‘‘My  dear  lady,  that  is  nothing  to  be  trouble 
about,”  said  Maitre  Solonet,  assuming  a confident  a 
as  soon  as  his  client  had  given  him  the  exact  figures 
“ The  question  is  how  have  you  conducted  yourse, 
toward  Monsieur  de  Manerville?  In  this  matter  quej 
tions  of  manner  and  deportment  are  of  greater  impoi 
tance  than  those  of  law  and  finance.” 

Madame  Evangelista  wrapped  herself  in  dignit} 
The  notary  learned  to  his  satisfaction  that  until  th 
present  moment  his  client’s  relations  to  Paul  had  bee 
distant  and  reserved,  and  that  partly  from  native  prid 
and  partly  from  involuntary  shrewdness  she  had  treate 
the  Comte  de  Manerville  as  in  some  sense  her  inferio 
and  as  though  it  were  an  honor  for  him  to  be  allowe< 
to  marry  Mademoiselle  Evangelista.  She  assure( 
Solonet  that  neither  she  nor  her  daughter  could  be  sus 
pected  of  any  mercenary  interests  in  the  marriage ; tha 
they  had  the  right,  should  Paul  make  any  financia 
difficulties,  to  retreat  from  the  affair  to  an  illim 
itable  distance;  and  finally,  that  she  had  already  ac 
quired  over  her  future  son-in  law  a very  remarkabi 
ascendency. 

“If  that  is  so,”  said  Solonet,  “ tell  me  what  are  th< 
utmost  concessions  you  are  willing  to  make.” 

“ I wish  to  make  as  few  as  possible,”  she  answered 
laughing. 

“A  woman’s  answer,”  cried  Solonet.  “Madame, 
are  you  anxious  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Natalie?  ” 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


45 


‘‘Yes.” 

“ And  you  want  a receipt  for  the  eleven  hundred  and 
fty-six  thousand  francs,  for  which  you  are  responsible 
n the  guardianship  account  which  the  law  obliges  you 
0 render  to  your  son-in-law  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ How  much  do  you  want  to  keep  back?” 

“ Thirty  thousand  a year,  at  least.” 

“ It  is  a question  of  conquer  or  die,  is  it?  ” 

“It  is.” 

“Well,  then,  I must  reflect  on  the  necessary  means 
.0  that  end ; it  will  need  all  our  cleverness  to  manage 
)ur  forces.  I will  give  you  some  instructions  on  my 
irrival  this  evening  ; follow  them  carefully , and  I think 
[ may  promise  you  a successful  issue.  Is  the  Comte  de 
Manerville  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  Natalie?  he 
rsked  as  he  rose  to  take  leave. 

“ He  adores  her.” 

“That  is  not  enough.  Does  he  desire  her  to  the 
point  of  disregarding  all  pecuniary  difficulties?  ” 

“Yes.” 

“ That’s  what  I call  having  a lien  upon  a daughter’s 
property,”  cried  the  notary.  “ Make  her  look  her  best 
to-night,”  he  added  with  a sly  glance. 

“ She  has  a most  charming  dress  for  the  occasion.” 

‘ ‘ The  marriage-contract  dress  is,  in  my  opinion, 
half  the  battle,”  said  Solonet. 

This  last  argument  seemed  so  cogent  to  Madame 
Evangelista  that  she  superintended  Natalie’s  toilet 
herself,  as  much  perhaps  to  watch  her  daughter  as  to 
make  her  the  innocent  accomplice  of  her  financial 
conspiracy. 


46 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


With  her  hair  dressed  a la  Sevigne  and  wearing 
gown  of  white  tulle  adorned  with  pink  ribbons,  Natali 
seemed  to  her  mother  so  beautiful  as  to  guarante 
victory.  When  the  lady’s-maid  left  the  room  an( 
Madame  Evangelista  was  certain  that  no  one  coul< 
overhear  her,  she  arranged  a few  curls  on  her  daughter’; 
head  by  way  of  exordium. 

“ Dear  child,”  she  said,  in  a voice  that  was  firn 
apparently,  “ do  you  • sincerely  love  the  Comte  d« 
Manerville  ? 

Mother  and  daughter  cast  strange  looks  at  each 
other. 

“ Why  do  you  ask  that  question,  little  mother?  and 
to-day  more  than  yesterday?  Why  have  you  thrown 
me  with  him  ? ’’ 

“If  you  and  I had  to  part  forever  would  you  still 
persist  in  the  marriage  ? ” 

“I  should  give  it  up  — and  I should  not  die  of 
grief.” 

“ You  do  not  love  him,  my  dear,”  said  the  mother, 
kissing  her  daughter’s  forehead. 

“But  why,  my  dear  mother,  are  you  playing  the 
Grand  Inquisitor  ? ” 

‘‘  I wished  to  know  if  you  desired  the  marriage  with- 
out being  madly  in  love  with  the  husband.” 

“ I love  him.” 

“ And  you  are  right.  He  Is  a count;  we  will  make 
him  a peer  of  France  between  us ; nevertheless,  there 
are  certain  difficulties.” 

“ Difficulties  between  persons  who  love  each  other? 
Oh,  no.  The  heart  of  the  Pink  of  Fashion  is  too 
firmly  planted  here,  sne  said,  with  a pretty  gesture, 


The  Marriaae  Contract, 


4? 


‘ to  make  the  very  slightest  objection.  I am  sure  of 
hate” 

‘‘  But  suppose  it  were  otherwise?  ’’  persisted  Madame 
Evangelista. 

He  would  be  profoundly  and  forever  forgotten,’’ 
•eplied  Natalie. 

“Good!  You  are  a Casa-Reale.  But  suppose, 
hough  he  madly  loves  you,  suppose  certain  discussions 
ind  difficulties  should  arise,  not  of  his  own  making, 
)ut  which  he  must  decide  in  your  interests  as  well  as  in 
Inine  — hey,  Natalie,  what  then?  Without  lowering 
i^our  dignity,  perhaps  a little  softness  in  your  manner 
night  decide  him  — a word,  a tone,  a mere  nothing. 
VIen  are  so  made ; they  resist  a serious  argument,  but 
hey  yield  to  a tender  look.” 

“I  understand!  a little  touch  to  make  my  Favori 
eap  the  barrier,”  said  Natalie,  making  the  gesture  of 
striking  a horse  with  her  whip. 

“My  darling!  I ask  nothing  that  resembles  seduc- 
;ion.  You  and  I have  sentiments  of  the  old  Castilian 
lonor  which  will  never  permit  us  to  pass  certain 
imits.  Count  Paul  shall  know  our  situation.” 

“ What  situation?  ” 

“You  would  not  understand  it.  But  I tell  you 
low  that  if  after  seeing  you  in  all  your  glory  his  look 
3etrays  the  slightest  hesitation,  — and  I shall  watch 
lim,  — on  that  instant  I will  break  off  the  marriage  ; I 
vill  liquidate  my  property,  leave  Bordeaux,  and  go  to 
Douai,  to  be  near  the  Claes.  Madame  Claes  is  our 
'elation  through  the  Temnincks.  Then  I’ll  marry  you 
:o  a peer  of  France,  and  take  refuge  in  a convent  my- 
self, that  I may  give  up  to  you  my  whole  fortune.” 


^8 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

“ Mother,  what  am  I to  do  to  prevent  such  misfor|i 
tunes? ’’cried  Natalie.  |( 

“ I have  never  seen  you  so  beautiful  as  you  are  now,’| 
replied  her  mother.  ‘‘Be  a little  coquettish,  and  all 
is  well.”  I 

Madame  Evangelista  left  Natalie  to  her  thoughts! 
and  went  to  arrange  her  own  toilet  in  a way  thatl 
would  bear  comparison  with  that  of  her  daughter.  Ill 
Natalie  ought  to  make  herself  attractive  to  Paul  shei 
ought,  none  the  less,  to  inflame  the  ardor  of  her  chain-J 
pion  Solonet.  The  mother  and  daughter  were  there! 
fore  under  arms  when  Paul  arrived,  bearing  the  bouquet! 
which  for  the  last  few  months  he  had  daily  offered  toj 
his  love..  All  three  conversed  pleasantly  while  await-l 
ing  the  arrival  of  the  notaries.  [ 

This  day  brought  to  Paul  the  first  skirmish  of  thatl 
long  and  wearisome  warfare  called  marriage.  It  is 
therefore  necessary  to  state  the  forces  on  both  sides, 
the  position  of  the  belligerent  bodies,  and  the  ground 
on  which  they  are  about  to  manoeuvre. 

To  maintain  a struggle,  the  importance  of  which  had 
wholly  escaped  him,  Paul’s  only  auxiliary  was  the  old 
notary,  Mathias.  Both  were  about  to  be  confronted, 
unaware  and  defenceless,  by  a most  unexpected  circum- 
stance ; to  be  pressed  by  an  enemy  whose  strategy  was 
planned,  and  driven  to  decide  on  a course  without  hav- 
ing time  to  reflect  upon  it.  Where  is  the  man  who 
would  not  have  succumbed,  even  though  assisted  by 
Cujas  and  Barthole?  How  should  he  look  for  deceit 
and  treachery  where  all  seemed  compliant  and  natural? 
What  could  old  Mathias  do  alone  against  Madame 
Evangelista,  against  Solonet,  against  Natalie,  espe 


The  Marriage  Contract.  49 

ially  when  a client  in  love  goes  over  to  the  enemy  as 
Don  as  the  rising  conflict  threatens  his  happiness? 
Llready  Paul  was  damaging  his  cause  by  making  the 
ustomary  lover’s  speeches,  to  which  his  passion  gave 
xcessive  value  in  the  ears  of  IVIadame  Evangelista, 
;rhose  object  it  was  to  drive  him  to  commit  himself. 

The  matrimonial  condottieri  now  about  to  fight  for 
beir  clients,  whose  personal  powers  were  to  be  so 
itally  important  in  this  solemn  encounter,  the  two 
otaries,  in  short,  represent  individually  the  old  and  the 
lew  systems,  — old-fashioned  notarial  usage,  and  the 
lew-fangled  modern  procedure. 

Maitre  Mathias  was  a worthy  old  gentleman  sixty- 
line  years  of  age,  who  took  great  pride  in  his  foity 
wears’  exercise  of  the  profession.  His  huge  gouty  feet 
ivere  encased  in  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  making  a 
idiculous  termination  to  legs  so  spindling,  with  knees 
\o  bony,  that  when  he  crossed  them  they  made  you 
ihink  of  the  emblems  on  a tombstone.  His  puny  little 
highs,  lost  in  a pair  of  wide  black  breeches  fastened 
vith  buckles,  seemed  to  bend  beneath  the  weight  of  a 
•ound  stomach  and  a torso  developed,  like  that  of  most 
ledentary  persons,  into  a stout  barrel,  always  buttoned 
nto  a green  coat  with  square  tails,  which  no  man  could 
'emember  to  have  ever  seen  new.  His  hair,  well 
Drushed  and  powdered,  was  tied  in  a rat’s  tail  that  lay 
Detween  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  that  of  his  waist- 
3oat,  which  was  white,  with  a pattern  of  flowers. 
W^ith  his  round  head,  his  face  the  color  of  a vine- 
leaf,  his  blue  eyes,  a trumpet  nose,  a thick-lipped 
rnouth,  and  a double  chin,  the  dear  old  fellow  excited, 
whenever  he  appeared  among  strangers  who  did  not 

4 


50 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


know  him,  that  satirical  laugh  which  Frenchmen  w 
generously  bestow  on  the  ludicrous  creations  Dam< 
Nature  occasionally  allows  herself,  which  Art  delighti 
in  exaggerating  under  the  name  of  caricatures. 

But  in  Maitre  Mathias,  mind  had  triumphed  ove:| 
form ; the  qualities  of  his  soul  had  vanquished  the  od| 
dities  of  his  body.  The  inhabitants  of  Bordeaux,  as  { 
rule,  testified  a friendly  respect  and  a deference  tha 
was  full  of  esteem  for  him.  The  old  man’s  voice  wen 
to  their  hearts  and  sounded  there  with  the  eloquence  ol 
uprightness.  His  craft  consisted  in  going  straight  tc 
the  fact,  overturning  all  subterfuge  and  evil  devices 
by  plain  questionings.  His  quick  perception,  his  lon^ 
training  in  his  profession  gave  him  that  divining  senst 
which  goes  to  the  depths  of  conscience  and  reads  its 
secret  thoughts.  Though  grave  and  deliberate  in  busi-j 
ness,  the  patriarch  could  be  gay  with  the  gayety  of  ouij 
ancestors.  He  could  risk  a song  after  dinner,  enjo^^j 
all  family  festivities,  celebrate  the  birthdays  of  grand-j 
mothers  and  children,  and  bury  with  due  solemnity  thej 
Christmas  log.  He  loved  to  send  presents  at  Newi 
Year,  and  eggs  at  Easter ; he  believed  in  the  duties  of| 
a godfather,  and  never  deserted  the  customs  whichj 
colored  the  life  of  the  olden  time.  Maitre  Mathiasj 
was  a noble  and  venerable  relic  of  the  notaries,  obscurej 
great  men,  who  gave  no  receipt  for  the  millions  in-j 
trusted  to  them,  but  returned  those  millions  in  the 
sacks  they  were  delivered  in,  tied  with  the  same  twine; 
men  who  fulfilled  their  trusts  to  the  letter,  drew  honest 
inventories,  took  fatherly  interest  in  their  clients,  often 
barring  the  way  to  extravagance  and  dissipation,  — 
men  to  whom  families  confided  their  secrets,  and  who 


The  Marriaae  Contract. 


51 


3lt  SO  responsible  for  any  error  in  their  deeds  that  they 
leditated  long  and  carefully  over  them.  Never  dur- 
ig  his  whole  notarial  life,  had  any  client  found  reason 
) complain  of  a bad  investment  or  an  ill-placed  mort- 
age. His  own  fortune,  slowly  but  honorably  ac- 
uired,  had  come  to  him  as  the  result  of  a thirty  years’ 
ractice  and  careful  economy.  He  had  established  in 
fe  fourteen  of  his  clerks.  Religious,  and  generous  in 
ecret,  Mathias  was  found  wherever  good  was  to  be 
one  without  remuneration.  An  active  member  on  hos- 
ital  and  other  benevolent  committees,  he  subscribed 
he  largest  sums  to  relieve  all  sudden  misfortunes  and 
mergencies,  as  well  as  to  create  certain  useful  perma- 
ent  institutions ; consequently,  neither  he  nor  his 
nfe  kept  a carriage.  Also  his  word  was  felt  to  be 
acred,  and  his  coffers  held  as  much  of  the  money  of 
•thers  as  a bank ; and  also,  we  may  add,  he  went  by 
he  name  of  Our  good  Monsieur  Mathias,”  and  when 
le  died,  three  thousand  persons  followed  him  to  his 
;rave. 

Solonet  was  the  style  of  young  notary  who  comes  in 
lumming  a tune,  affects  light-heartedness,  declares 
hat  business  is  better  done  with  a laugh  than  seri- 
»usly.  He  is  the  notary  captain  of  the  national  guard, 
v’ho  dislikes  to  be  taken  for  a notary,  solicits  the  cross 
>f  the  Legion  of  honor,  keeps  his  cabriolet,  and  leaves 
he  verification  of  his  deeds  to  his  clerks ; he  is  the 
lotary  who  goes  to  balls  and  theatres,  buys  pic- 
ures  and  plays  at  ecarte  ; he  has  coffers  in  which  gold 
s received  on  deposit  and  is  later  returned  in  bank- 
fills,  — a notary  who  follows  his  epoch,  risks  capital  in 
loubtful  investments,  speculates  with  all  he  can  lay  hia 


62 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


hands  on,  and  expects  to  retire  with  an  income  c 
thirty  thousand  francs  after  ten  years’  practice;  i 
short,  the  notary  whose  cleverness  comes  of  his  dupl 
city,  whom  many  men  fear  as  an  accomplice  possessin 
their  secrets,  and  who  sees  in  his  practice  a means  c 
ultimately  marrying  some  blue-stockinged  heiress. 

When  the  slender,  fair-haired  Solonet,  curled,  pei 
fumed,  and  booted  like  the  leading  gentleman  at  th 
Vaudeville,  and  dressed  like  a dandy  whose  most  im 
portant  business  is  a duel,  entered  Madame  Evan 
gelista’s  salon,  preceding  his  brother  notary,  whos 
advance  was  delayed  by  a twinge  of  the  gout,  the  tw< 
men  presented  to  the  life  one  of  those  famous  carica 
tures  entitled  ‘‘Former  Times  and  the  Present  Day,' 
which  had  such  eminent  success  under  the  Empire.  I 
Madame  and  Mademoiselle  Evangelista  to  whom  th« 
“ good  Monsieur  Mathias,”  was  personally  unknown 
felt,  on  first  seeing  him,  a slight  inclination  to  laugh 
they  were  soon  touched  by  the  old-fashioned  grace 
with  which  he  greeted  them.  The  words  he  used  wen 
full  of  that  amenity  which  amiable  old  men  convey  as 
much  by  the  ideas  they  suggest  as  by  the  manner  k 
which  they  express  them.  The  younger  notary,  with 
his  flippant  tone,  seemed  on  a lower  plane.  Mathias 
showed  his  superior  knowledge  of  life  by  the  reserved 
manner  with  which  he  accosted  Paul.  Without  com- 
promising his  white  hairs,  he  showed  that  he  respected 
the  young  man’s  nobility,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
claimed  the  honor  due  to  old  age,  and  made  it  felt  that 
social  rights  are  mutual.  Solonet’s  bow  and  greeting, 
on  the  contrary,  expressed  a sense  of  perfect  equality, 
which  would  naturally  affront  the  pretensions  of  a man 


The  Marriage  OontracL 


53 


f society  and  make  the  notary  ridiculous  in  the  eyes 
f a real  noble.  Solouet  made  a motion,  somewhat  too 
amiliar,  to  Madame  Evangelista,  inviting  her  to  a 
ii-ivate  conference  in  the  recess  of  a window.  For 
,ome  minutes  they  talked  to  each  other  in  a low  voice, 
iving  way  now  and  then  to  laughter,  ■ no  doubt  to 
Bssen  in  the  minds  of  others  the  importance  of  the 
onversation,  in  which  Solonet  was  really  communicat- 
ing to  his  sovereign  lady  the  plan  of  battle. 

, “ But,”  he  said,  as  he  ended,  “ will  you  have  the 
lourage  to  sell  your  house?  ” 

, “ Undoubtedly,”  she  replied. 

I Madame  Evangelista  did  not  choose  to  tell  her  notary 
he  motive  of  this  heroism,  which  struck  him  greatly. 
5olonet’s  zeal  might  have  cooled  had  he  known  that 
Ills  client  was  really  intending  to  leave  Bordeaux. 
She  had  not  as  yet  said  anything  about  that  intention 
;;o  Paul,  in  order  not  to  alarm  him  with  the  preliminary 
steps  and  circumlocutions  which  must  be  taken  before 
[le  entered  on  the  political  life  she  planned  for  him. 

I After  dinner  the  two  plenipotentaries  left  the  loving 
pair  with  the  mother,  and  betook  themselves  to  an  ad- 
joining salon  where  their  conference  was  arranged  to 
take  place.  A dual  scene  then  followed  on  this  domes- 
tic stage:  in  the  chimney-corner  of  the  great  salon  a 
scene  of  love,  in  which  to  all  appearance  life  was 
smiles  and  joy ; in  the  other  room,  a scene  of  gravity 
and  gloom,  where  selfish  interests,  baldly  proclaimed, 
openly  took  the  part  they  play  in  life  under  flowery 
disguises. 

“ My  dear  master,”  said  Solonet,  “ the  document  can 
remain  under  your  lock  and  key ; I know  very  well  whaf 


54 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

I owe  to  my  old  pre7?5ptor.'’  Mathias  bowed  gravelj 
‘‘ But,”  continued  Solonet,  unfolding  the  rough  cop 
of  a deed  he  had  made  his  clerk  draw  up,  as  we  ar 
the  oppressed  party,  I mean  the  daughter,  I hav 
written  the  contract  — which  will  save  you  trouble 
We  marry  with  our  rights  under  the  rule  of  communit 
of  interests ; with  general  donation  of  our  property  t< 
each  other  in  case  of  death  without  heirs ; if  not,  dona 
tion  of  one-fourth  as  life  interest,  and  one-fourth  ii 
fee ; the  sum  placed  in  community  of  interests  to  b< 
one-fourth  of  the  respective  property  of  each  party 
the  survivor  to  possess  the  furniture  without  appraisal 
It ’s  all  as  simple  as  how  d’  ye  do.” 

‘‘Ta,  ta,  ta,  ta,”  said  Mathias,  ‘‘I  don’t  do  business 
as  one  sings  a tune.  What  are  your  claims?  ” 

‘‘  What  are  yours?  ” said  Solonet. 

‘‘Our  property”  replied  Mathias,  “is:  the  estate 
of  Lanstrac,  which  brings  in  a rental  of  twenty-three 
thousand  francs  a year,  not  counting  the  natural  pro- 
ducts. Item : the  farms  of  Grassol  and  Gaudet,  each 
worth  three  thousand  six  hundred  francs  a year. 
Item> : the  vineyard  of  Belle-Rose,  yielding  in  ordinary 
years  sixteen  thousand  francs  ; total,  forty-six  thou- 
sand two  hundred  francs  a year.  Item : the  patrimo 
nial  mansion  at  Bordeaux  taxed  for  nine  hundred 
francs.  Item : a handsome  house,  between  court  and 
garden  in  Paris,  rue  de  la  Pe'piuiere,  taxed  for  fifteen 
hundred  francs.  These  pieces  of  property,  the  title- 
deeds  of  which  I hold,  are  derived  from  our  father  and 
mother,  except  the  house  in  Paris,  which  we  bought 
ourselves.  We  must  also  reckon  in  the  furniture  of 
the  two  houses,  and  that  of  the  chateau  of  Lanstrac, 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


65 


stimated  at  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
rhere’s  the  table,  the  cloth,  and  the  first  course. 
/V^hat  do  you  bring  for  the  second  course  and  the 
lessert?  ’’ 

Our  rights,”  replied  Solonet. 

“ Specify  them,  my  friend,”  said  Mathias.  “ What 
lo  you  bring  us?  Where  is  the  inventory  of  the  prop- 
jrty  left  by  Monsieur  Evangelista?  Show  me  the 
.iquidation,  the  investment  of  the  amount.  Where  is 
your  capital?  — if  there  is  any  capital.  Where  is 
your  landed  property?  — if  you  have  any.  In  short, 
let  us  see  your  guardianship  account,  and  tell  us  what 
you  bring  and  what  your  mother  will  secure  to  us.” 

“ Does  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Manerville  love  Made- 
moiselle Evangelista? 

“ He  wishes  to  make  her  his  wife  if  the  marriage  can 
be  suitably  arranged,”  said  the  old  notary.  “lam  not 
a child;  this  matter  concerns  our  business,  and  not  our 
feelings.” 

“ The  marriage  will  be  off  unless  you  show  gener- 
ous feeling;  and  for  this  reason,”  continued  Solonet. 
“ No  inventory  was  made  at  the  death  of  our  husband ; 
we  are  Spaniards,  creoles,  and  know  nothing  of  French 
laws.  Besides,  we  were  too  deeply  grieved  at  our  loss 
to  think  at  such  a timq  of  the  miserable  formalities 
which  occupy  cold  hearts.  It  is  publicly  well  known 
that  our  late  husband  adored  us,  and  that  we  mourned 
for  him  sincerely.  If  we  did  have  a settlement  of  ac- 
counts with  a short  inventory  attached,  made,  as  one 
may  say,  by  common  report,  you  can  thank  our  surro- 
gate guardian,  who  obliged  us  to  establish  a status  and 
assign  to  our  daughter  a fortune,  such  as  it  is,  at  a 


56 


The  Marriage  Contract.  \ 

time  when  we  were  forced  to  withdraw  from  London 
our  English  securities,  the  capital  of  which  was  im- 
mense, and  re-invest  the  proceeds  in  Paris,  where  inter- 
ests were  doubled.’’ 

Don’t  talk  nonsense  to  me.  There  are  various 
ways  of  verifying  the  property.  What  was  the  amount 
of  your  legacy  tax?  Those  figures  will  enable  us  to 
get  at  the  total.  Come  to  the  point.  Tell  us  frankly 
what  you  received  from  the  father’s  estate  and  how 
much  remains  of  it.  If  we  are  very  much  in  love 
we  ’ll  see  then  what  we  can  do.” 

If  you  are  marrying  us  for  our  money  you  can  go 
about  your  business.  We  have  claims  to  more  than  a 
million  ; but  all  that  remains  to  our  mother  is  this  house 
and  furniture  and  four  hundred  odd  thousand  francs 
invested  about  1817  in  the  Five-per-cents,  which  yield 
about  forty  thousand  francs  a year.” 

“Then  why  do  you  live  in  a style  that  requires  one 
hundred  thousand  a year  at  the  least?”  cried  Mathias, 
horror-stricken. 

“ Our  daughter  has  cost  us  the  eyes  out  of  our 
head,”  replied  Solonet,  “ Besides,  we  like  to  spend 
money.  Your  jeremiads,  let  me  tell  you,  won’t  re- 
cover two  farthings  of  the  money.” 

“ With  the  fifty  thousand  francs  a year  which  be- 
longed to  Mademoiselle  Natalie  you  could  have  brought 
her  up  handsomely  without  coming  to  ruin.  But  if  you 
have  squandered  everything  while  you  were  a girl  what 
will  it  be  when  you  a married  woman  ? ” 

“Then  drop  us  altogether,”  said  Solonet,  “The 
handsomest  girl  in  Bordeaux  has  a right  to  spend  more 
than  she  has,  if  she  likes.” 


The  Marriage  Contract.  57 

“ I ’ll  talk  to  my  client  about  that,”  said  the  old 
lotary. 

“ Very  good,  old  father  Cassandra,  go  and  tell  your 
3lient  that  we  have  n’t  a penny,”  thought  Solonet,  who, 
n the  solitude  of  his  study,  had  strategically  massed 
lis  forces,  drawn  up  his  propositions,  manned  the 
Irawbridge  of  discussion,  and  prepared  the  point  at 
(vhich  the  opposing  party,  thinking  the  affair  a failure, 
could  suddenly  be  led  into  a compromise  which  would 
end  in  the  triumph  of  his  client. 

The  white  dress  with  its  rose-colored  ribbons,  the 
Sevigne  curls,  Natalie’s  tiny  foot,  her  winning  glance, 
her  pretty  fingers  constantly  employed  in  adjusting 
curls  that  needed  no  adjustment,  these  girlish  manoeu- 
vres like  those  of  a peacock  spreading  his  tail,  had 
brought  Paul  to  the  point  at  which  his  future  mother- 
in-law  desired  to  see  him.  He  was  intoxicated  with 
love,  and  his  eyes,  the  sure  thermometer  of  the  soul, 
indicated  the  degree  of  passion  at  which  a man  com- 
mits a thousand  follies. 

“ Natalie  is  so  beautiful,”  he  whispered  to  the 
mother,  “ that  I can  conceive  the  frenzy  which  leads  a 
man  to  pay  for  his  happiness  by  death.” 

Madame  Evangelista  replied  with  a shake  of  her 
head : — 

‘‘Lover’s  talk,  my  dear  count.  My  husband  never 
said  such  charming  things  to  me ; but  he  married  me 
without  a fortune  and  for  thirteen  years  he  never 
caused  me  one  moment’s  pain. 

“Is  that  a lesson  you  are  giving  me?”  said  Paul, 

laughing. 

“You  know  how  I love  you^  my  dear  son,”  she 


58 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


answered,  pressing  his  hand.  ‘‘  I must  indeed  lov< 
you  well  to  give  you  my  Natalie.’’ 

‘‘  Give  me,  give  me?  ” said  the  young  girl,  waving  2 
screen  of  Indian  feathers,  what  are  you  whispering 
about  me  ? ” 

I was  telling  her,”  replied  Paul,  how  much  I love 
you,  since  etiquette  forbids  me  to  tell  it  to  you.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“ I fear  to  say  too  much.” 

“ Ah!  you  know  too  well  how  to  offer  the  jewels  of 
flattery.  Shall  I tell  you  my  private  opinion  about 
you?  Well,  I think  you  have  more  mind  than  a lover 
ought  to  have.  To  be  the  Pink  of  Fashion  and  a wit 
as  well,”  she  added,  dropping  her  eyes,  “ is  to  have  too 
many  advantages : a man  should  choose  between  them. 
I fear  too,  myself.” 

“ And  why  ? ” 

“We  must  not  talk  in  this  way.  Mamma,  do  you 
not  think  that  this  conversation  is  dangerous  inasmuch 
as  the  contract  is  not  yet  signed  ? ” 

“ It  soon  will  be,”  said  Paul. 

“I  should  like  to  know  what  Achilles  and  Nestor 
are  saying  to  each  other  in  the  next  room,”  said 
Natalie,  nodding  toward  the  door  of  the  little  salon 
with  a childlike  expression  of  curiosity. 

“ They  are  talking  of  our  children  and  our  death  and 
a lot  of  other  such  trifles ; they  are  counting  our  gold 
to  see  if  we  can  keep  five  horses  in  the  stables.  They 
are  talking  also  of  deeds  of  gift;  but  there,  I have 
forestalled  them.” 

“ How  so?  ” 

“ Have  I not  given  myself  wholly  to  you?  ” he  said, 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


59 


looking  straight  at  the  girl,  whose  beauty  was  en- 
hanced by  the  blush  which  the  pleasure  of  this  answer 
brought  to  her  face. 

“ Mamma,  how  can  I acknowledge  so  much  gen- 
erosity.” 

“ My  dear  child,  you  have  a lifetime  before  you  in 
which  to  return  it.  To  make  the  daily  happiness  of  a 
home,  is  to  bring  a treasure  into  it.  I had  no  other 
fortune  when  I married.” 

“Do  you  like  Laustrac?”  asked  Paul,  addressing 
Natalie. 

“ How  could  I fail  to  like  the  place  where  you  were 
born?  ” she  replied.  “ I wish  I could  see  your  house.” 

“ Our  house,”  said  Paul.  “ Do  you  not  want  to 
know  if  I shall  understand  your  tastes  and  arrange  the 
house  to  suit  you?  Your  mother  had  made  a hus- 
band’s task  most  difficult ; you  have  always  been  so 
happy ! But  where  love  is  infinite,  nothing  is 
impossible.” 

“ My  dear  children,”  said  Madame  Evangelista, 
“ do  you  feel  willing  to  stay  in  Bordeaux  after  your 
marriage?  If  you  have  the  courage  to  face  the  people 
here  who  know  you  and  will  watch  and  hamper  you,  so 
be  it ! But  if  you  feel  that  desire  for  a solitude 
together  which  can  hardly  be  expressed,  let  us  go  to 
Paris  where  the  life  of  a young  couple  can  pass  un- 
noticed in  the  stream.  There  alone  you  can  behave  as 
lovers  without  fearing  to  seem  ridiculous.” 

“You  are  quite  right,”  said  Paul,  “but  I shall 
hardly  have  time  to  get  my  house  ready.  However,  I 
will  write  to-night  to  de  Marsay,  the  friend  on  whom  I 
can  always  count  to  get  things  done  for  me.” 


60 


The  Marriage  Contracto 


At  the  moment  when  Paul,  like  all  young  men  accus* 
tomed  to  satisfy  their  desires  without  previous  calcula- 
tion, was  inconsiderately  binding  himself  to  the 
expenses  of  a stay  in  Paris,  Maitre  Mathias  entered 
the  salon  and  made  a sign  to  his  client  that  he  wished 
to  speak  to  him. 

‘‘  What  is  it,  my  friend?  ” asked  Paul,  following  the 
old  man  to  the  recess  of  a window. 

'‘Monsieur  le  comte,’’  said  the  honest  lawyer, 
"there  is  not  a penny  of  dowry.  My  advice  is  : 
put  off  the  conference  to  another  day,  so  that  you  may 
gain  time  to  consider  your  proper  course.’’ 

" Monsieur  Paul,”  said  Natalie,  "I  have  a word  to 
say  in  private  to  you.” 

Though  Madame  Evangelista’s  face  was  calm,  no 
Jew  of  the  middle  ages  ever  suffered  greater  torture  in 
his  caldron  of  boiling  oil  than  she  was  enduring  in  her 
violet  velvet  gown.  Solonet  had  pledged  the  marriage 
to  her,  but  she  was  ignorant  of  the  means  and  condi- 
tions of  success.  The  anguish  of  this  uncertainty  was 
intolerable.  Possibl}^  she  owed  her  safety  to  her 
daughter’s  disobedience.  Natalie  had  considered  the 
advice  of  her  mother  and  noticed  her  anxiety.  When 
she  saw  the  success  of  her  own  coquetry  she  was  struck 
to  the  heart  with  a variety  of  contradictory  thoughts. 
Without  blaming  her  mother,  she  was  half-ashamed 
of  manoeuvres  the  object  of  which  was,  undoubtedly, 
some  personal  game.  She  was  also  seized  with  a jeal- 
ous curiosity  which  is  easily  conceived.  She  wanted 
to  find  out  if  Paul  loved  her  well  enough  to  rise  above 
the  obstacles  that  her  mother  foresaw  and  which  she 
now  saw  clouding  the  face  of  the  old  lawyer.  These 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


61 


ideas  and  sentiments  prompted  her  to  an  action  of 
loyalty  which  became  her  well.  But,  for  all  that,  the 
blackest  perfidy  could  not  have  been  as  dangerous  as 
her  present  innocence. 

“Paul,”  she  said  in  a low  voice,  and  she  so  called 
him  for  the  first  time,  “ if  any  difficulties  as  to  property 
arise  to  separate  us,  remember  that  1 free  you  from  all 
engagements,  and  will  allow  you  to  let  the  blame  of 
such  a rupture  rest  on  me.” 

She  put  such  dignity  into  this  expression  of  her 
generosity  that  Paul  believed  in  her  disinterestedness 
and  in  her  ignorance  of  the  strange  fact  that  his  notary 
had  just  told  to  him.  He  pressed  the  young  girl’s 
hand  and  kissed  it  like  a man  to  whom  love  is  more 
precious  than  wealth.  Natalie  left  the  room. 

Sac-a-papier  ! Monsieur  le  comte,  you  are  com- 
mitting a great  folly,”  said  the  old  notary,  rejoining  his 
client. 

Paul  grew  thoughtful.  He  had  expected  to  unite 
Natalie’s  fortune  with  his  own  and  thus  obtain  for  his 
married  life  an  income  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs 
a year ; and  however  much  a man  may  be  in  love  he 
cannot  pass  without  emotion  and  anxiety  from  the 
prospect  of  a hundred  thousand  to  the  certainty  of 
forty-six  thousand  francs  a year  and  the  duty  of  pro- 
viding for  a woman  accustomed  to  every  luxury. 

‘‘My  daughter  is  no  longer  here,”  said  Madame 
Evangelista,  advancing  almost  regally  toward  her  son- 
in-law  and  his  notary.  “May  I be  told  what  is 
happening  ? ” 

“Madame,”  replied  Mathias,  alarmed  at  Paul’s 
silence,  “an  obstacle  which  I fear  will  delay  us  has 


arisen  — 


62 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


At  these  words,  Maitre  Solonet  issued  from  the 
little  salon  and  cut  short  the  old  man’s  speech  by  a 
remark  which  restored  Paul’s  composure.  Overcome 
by  the  remembrance  of  his  gallant  speeches  and  his 
lover-like  behavior,  he  felt  unable  to  disown  them  or  to 
change  his  course.  He  longed,  for  the  moment,  to 
fling  himself  into  a gulf;  Solonet’s  words  relieved 
him. 

There  is  a way,”  said  the  younger  notary,  with  an 
easy  air,  ‘‘by  which  madame  can  meet  the  payment 
which  is  due  to  her  daughter.  Madame  Evangelista 
possesses  forty  thousand  francs  a year  from  an  invest- 
ment in  the  Five-per-cents,  the  capital  of  which  will 
soon  be  at  par,  if  not  above  it.  We  may  therefore 
reckon  it  at  eight  hundred  thousand  francs.  This 
house  and  garden  are  fully  worth  two  hundred  thou- 
sand. On  that  estimate,  Madame  can  convey  by  the 
marriage  contract  the  titles  of  that  property  to  her 
daughter,  reserving  only  a life  interest  in  it— for  I 
conclude  that  Monsieur  le  comte  could  hardly  wish  to 
leave  his  mother-in-law  without  means?  Thouoh 
Madame  has  certainly  run  through  her  fortune,  she  is 
still  able  to  make  good  that  of  her  daughter,  or  very 
nearly  so.” 

‘‘Women  are  most  unfortunate  in  having  no  know- 
ledge of  business,”  said  Madame  Evangelista.  “Have 
I titles  to. property?  and  what  are  life-interests?  ” 

Paul  was  in  a sort  of  ecstasy  as  he  listened  to  the 
proposed  arrangement.  The  old  notary,  seeing  the 
trap,  and  his  client  with  one  foot  caught  in  it,  was 
petrified  for  a moment,  as  he  said  to  himself:  — 

“I  am  certain  they  are  tricking  us.” 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


63 


“If  madame  will  follow  my  advice,”  said  Soloiiet, 
‘she  will  secure  her  own  tranquillity.  By  sacrificing 
lerself  in  this  way  she  may  be  sure  that  no  minors 
vill  ultimately  harass  her  — for  we  never  know  who 
3iay  live  and  who  may  die!  Monsieur  le  comte  will 
then  give  due  acknowledgment  in  the  marriage  con- 
tract of  having  received  the  sum  total  of  Mademoiselle 
Evangelista’s  patrimonial  inheritance.” 

Mathias  could  not  restrain  the  indignation  which 
shone  in  his  eyes  and  flushed  his  face. 

“And  that  sum,”  he  said,  shaking,  “is  — ” 

“One  million,  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand 
francs  according  to  the  document  ” 

“Why  don’t  you  ask  Monsieur  le  comte  to  make 
over  hie  et  nunc  his  whole  fortune  to  his  future  wife?  ” 
said  Mathias.  “It  would  be  more  honest  than  what 
you  now  propose.  I will  not  allow  the  ruin  of  the 
Comte  de  Manerville  to  take  place  under  my  very 
eyes  — ” 

He  made  a step  a^  if  to  address  his  client,  who  was 
silent  throughout  this  scene  as  if  dazed  by  it;  but  he 
turned  and  said,  addressing  Madame  Evangelista:  — 
“Do  not  suppose,  madame,  that  I think  you  a party 
to  these  ideas  of  my  brother  notary.  I consider  you 
an  honest  woman  and  a lady  who  knows  nothing  of 
business.” 

“Thank  you,  brother  notary,”  said  Solonet. 

“You  know  that  there  can  be  no  offence  between 
you  and  me,”  replied  Mathias.  “Madame,”  he  added, 
“you  ought  to  know  the  result  of  this  proposed  arrange- 
ment. You  are  still  young  and  beautiful  enough  to 
marry  again — Ah!  madame,”  said  the  old  man, 


64 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


noting  her  gesture,  “who  can  answer  for  themselves 
on  that  point?  ” 

“I  did  not  suppose,  monsieur,”  said  Madame  Evan- 
gelista, “ that,  after  remaining  a widow  for  the  seven 
best  years  of  my  life,  and  refusing  the  most  brilliant 
offers  for  my  daughter’s  sake,  I should  be  suspected 
of  such  a piece  of  folly  as  marrying  again  at  thirty- 
nine  years  of  age.  If  we  were  not  talking  business  I 
should  regard  your  suggestion  as  an  impertinence.” 

“Would  it  not  be  more  impertinent  if  I suggested 
that  you  could  not  maiTy  again  ? ” 

“Can  and  will  are  separate  terms,”  remarked 
Solonet,  gallantly.” 

“Well,”  resumed  Maitre  Mathias,  “we  will  say 
nothing  of  your  marriage.  You  may,  and  we  all 
desire  it,  live  for  forty-five  years  to  come.  Now,  if 
you  keep  for  yourself  the  life-interest  in  your  daugh- 
ter’s patrimony,  your  children  are  laid  on  the  shelf  for 
the  best  years  of  their  lives.” 

“What  does  that  mean?  ” said  tlje  widow.  “I  don’t 
understand  being  laid  on  a shelf. 

Solonet,  the  man  of  elegance  and  good  taste,  began 
to  laugh. 

‘'I  ’ll  translate  it  for  you,”  said  Mathias.  ‘‘If  your 
children  are  wise  they  will  think  of  the  future.  To 
think  of  the  future  means  laying  by  half  our  income, 
provided  we  have  only  two  children,  to  whom  we  are 
bound  to  give  a fine  education  and  a handsome  dowry. 
Your  daughter  and  son-in-law  will,  therefore,  be 
reduced  to  live  on  twenty  thousand  francs  a year, 
though  each  has  spent  fifty  thousand  while  still  un- 
mairied*  But  that  is  nothing.  The  law  obliges  my 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


65 


client  to  account,  hereafter,  to  his  children  for  the 
eleven  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  francs  of  their 
mother’s  patrimony;  yet  he  may  not  have  received 
them  if  his  wife  should  die  and  madame  should  sur- 
vive her,  which  may  very  well  happen.  To  sign  such 
a contract  is  to  fling  one’s  self  into  the  river,  bound 
hand  and  foot.  You  wish  to  make  your  daughter 
happy,  do  you  not?  If  she  loves  her  husband,  a fact 
which  notaries  never  doubt,  she  will  share  his  troubles. 
Madame,  I see  enough  in  this  scheme  to  make  her  die 
of  grief  and  anxiety ; you  are  consigning  her  to  pov- 
erty. Yes,  madame,  poverty;  to  persons  accustomed 
to  the  use  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a year, 
twenty  thousand  is  poverty.  Moreover,  if  Monsieur 
le  comte,  out  of  love  for  his  wife,  were  guilty  of 
extravagance,  she  could  ruin  him  by  exercising  hei 
rights  when  misfortunes  overtook  him.  I plead  now 
for  you,  for  them,  for  their  children,  for  every  one.” 

“The  old  fellow  makes  a lot  of  smoke  with  his  can- 
non,” thought  Maitre  Solonet,  giving  his  client  a look, 
which  meant,  “Keep  on!  ” 

“There  is  one  way  of  combining  all  interests,” 
replied  Madame  Evangelista,  calmly.  “T  can  reserve 
to  myself  only  the  necessary  cost  of  living  in  a con- 
vent, and  my  children  can  have  my  property  at  once. 
I can  renounce  the  world,  if  such  anticipated  death 
conduces  to  the  welfare  of  my  daughter. 

“Madame,”  said  the  old  notary,  “let  us  take  time 
to  eonsider  and  weigh,  deliberately,  the  course  we  had 
best  pursue  to  conciliate  all  interests.” 

“ Good  heavens!  monsieur,”  cried  Madame  Evan- 
gelista, who  saw  defeat  in  delay,  “everything  has 

6 


66 


The  Marriage  Contraci, 


already  been  considered  and  weighed.  I was  ignorant 
of  what  the  process  of  marriage  is  in  France;  I am  a 
Spaniard  and  a creole.  I did  not  know  that  in  order 
to  marry  my  daughter  it  was  necessary  to  reckon  up 
the  days  which  God  may  still  grant  me;  that  my 
child  would  suffer  because  I live ; that  I do  harm  f 
by  living,  and  by  having  lived ! When  my  husband  j 
married  me  I had  nothing  but  my  name  and  my  j 
person.  My  name  alone  was  a fortune  to  him,  which  [ 
dwarfed  his  own.  What  wealth  can  equal  that  of  a : 
great  name?  My  dowry  was  beauty,  virtue,  happiness,  [ 
birth,  education.  Can  money  give  those  treasures  ? | 
If  Natalie’s  father  could  overhear  this  conversation,  [ 
his  generous  soul  would  be  wounded  forever,  and  his  : 
happiness  in  paradise  destroyed.  I dissipated,  fool- 
ishly, perhaps,  a few  of  his  millions  without  a quiver 
ever  coming  to  his  eyelids.  Since  his  death,  I have 
grown  economical  and  orderly  in  comparison  with  i 
the  life  he  encouraged  me  to  lead  — Come,  let  us 
break  this  thing  off!  Monsieur  de  Manerville  is  so 
disappointed  that  I — ” 

No  descriptive  language  can  express  the  confusion 
and  shock  which  the  words,  ‘‘break  off,”  introduced 
into  the  conversation.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  these 
four  apparently  well-bred  persons  all  talked  at  once. 

“In  Spain  people  marry  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  or 
as  they  please;  but  in  France  they  marry  according 
to  French  law,  sensibly,  and  as  best  they  can,”  said 
Mathias. 

“Ah,  madame,”  cried  Paul,  coming  out  of  his 
stupefaction,  “you  mistake  my  feelings.”  I 

“This  is  not  a matter  of  feeling,”  said  the  old 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


67 


otary,  trying  to  stop  his  client  from  concessions. 
■We  are  concerned  now  with  the  interests  and  welfare 
f three  generations.  Have  we  wasted  the  missing 
aillions?  We  are  simply  endeavoring  to  solve  diffi- 
ulties  of  which  we  are  wholly  guiltless.” 

“Marry  us,  and  don’t  haggle,”  said  Solonet. 

“Haggle!  do  you  call  it  haggling  to  defend  the 
nterests  of  father  and  mother  and  children?”  said 
ilathias. 

“Yes,”  said  Paul,  continuing  his  remarks  to 
dadame  Evangelista,  “I  deplore  the  extravagance  of 
ny  youth,  which  does  not  permit  me  to  stop  this  dis- 
■■ussion,  as  you  deplore  your  ignorance  of  business 
ind  your  involuntary  wastefulness.  God  is  my  wit- 
less that  I am  not  thinking,  at  this  moment,  of  my- 
lelf.  A simple  life  at  Lanstrac  does  not  alarm  me; 
mt  how  can  I ask  Mademoiselle  Natalie  to  i-enounce 
ler  tastes,  her  habits  ? Her  very  existence  would  be 

ihanged.”  « 

“Where  did  Evangelista  get  his  millions?”  said 

.he  widow. 

“Monsieur  Evangelista  was  in  business,”  replied 
;he  old  notary;  “he  played  in  the  great  game  of 
jommerce;  he  despatched  ships  and  made  enormous 
mms;  we  are  simply  a landowner,  whose  capital  is 
invested,  whose  income  is  fixed.” 

“There  is  still  a way  to  harmonize  all  interests,” 
said  Solonet,  uttering  this  sentence  in  a high  falsetto 
tone,  which  silenced  the  other  three  and  drew  their 
eyes  and  their  attention  upon  himself. 

This  young  man  was  not  unlike  a skilful  coachman 
who  holds  the  reins  of  four  horses,  and  amuses  himself 


68 


The  Marriage  Contract 


by  first  exciting  his  animals  and  then  subduing  them,^ 
He  had  let  loose  these  passions,  and  then,  in  turn,  hi^ 
calmed  them,  making  Paul,  whose  life  and  happiness 
were  in  the  balance,  sweat  in  his  harness,  as  well  ag 
his  own  client,  who  could  not  clearly  see  her  waj 
through  this  involved  discussion. 

‘‘Madame  Evangelista,’’  he  continued,  after  a slight 
pause,  “can  resign  her  investment  in  the  Five-per- 
cents at  once,  and  she  can  sell  this  house.  I can  getf 
three  hundred  thousand  for  it  by  cutting  the  land  into 
small  lots.  Out  of  that  sum  she  can  give  you  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  In  this  way  she 
pays  down  nine  hundred  thousand  of  her  daughter’s 
patrimony,  immediately.  That,  to  be  sure,  is  not  all 
that  she  owes  her  daughter,  but  where  will  you  find,  in 
France,  a better  dowry?” 

“Very  good,”  said  Maitre  Mathias;  “but  what, 
then,  becomes  of  madame?” 

At^this  ques’/.on,  which  appeared  to  imply  consent, 
Solonet  said,  softly,  to  himself,  “Well  done,  old  fox! 

I ’ve  caught  you ! ” 

“Madame,”  he  replied,  aloud,  “will  keep  the  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  francs  remaining  from  the 
sale  of  the  house.  This  sum,  added  to  the  value  of 
her  furniture,  can  be  invested  in  an  annuity  which  will 
give  her  twenty  thousand  francs  a year.  Monsieur  le 
comte  can  arrange  to  provide  a residence  for  her  under 
his  roof.  Lanstrac  is  a large  house.  You  have  also 
a house  in  Paris,”  he  went  on,  addressing  himself  to 
Paul.  “Madame  can,  therefore,  live  with  you  where- 
ever  you  are.  A widow  with  twenty  thousand  francs 
a year,  and  no  household  to  maintain,  is  richer  than 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


69 


aadame  was  when  she  possessed  her  whole  fortune, 
ladame  Evangelista  has  only  this  one  daughter; 
lonsieur  le  comte  is  without  relations;  it  will  be 
aany  years  before  your  heirs  attain  their  majority; 
lO  conflict  of  interests  is,  therefore,  to  be  feared.  A 
Qother-in-law  and  a son-in-law  placed  in  such  rela- 
ions  will  form  a household  of  united  interests, 
dadame  Evangelista  can  make  up  for  the  remaining 
ieflcit  by  paying  a certain  sum  for  her  support  from 
ler  annuity,  which  will  ease  your  way.  We  know  that 
aadame  is  too  generous  and  too  large-minded  to  be 
rilling  to  be  a burden  ori  her  children.  In  this  way 
rou  can  make  one  household,  united  and  happy,  and 
)e  able  to  spend,  in  your  own  right,  one  hundred 
housand  francs  a year.  Is  not  that  sum  suftlcient, 
donsieur  le  comte,  to  enjoy,  in  all  countries,  the 
uxuries  of  life,  and  to  satisfy  all  your  wants  and 
caprices?  Believe  me,  a young  couple  often  feel  the 
leed  of  a third  member  of  the  household;  and,  I ask 
70U,  what  third  member  could  be  so  desirable  as  a 
;ood  mother?” 

“A  little  paradise!  ” exclaimed  the  old  notary. 

Shocked  to  see  his  client’s  joy  at  this  proposal, 
dathias  sat  down  on  /in  ottoman,  his  head  in  his 
lands,  plunged  in  reflections  that  were  evidently  pain- 
iil.  He  knew  well  the  involved  phraseology  in  which 
lotaries  and  lawyers  wrap  up,  intentionally,  malicious 
schemes,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  taken  in  by  it. 
de  now  began,  furtively,  to  watch  his  brother  notary 
ind  Madame  Evangelista  as  they  conversed  with  Paul, 
ndeavoring  to  detect  some  clew  to  the  deep-laid  plot 
irhich  was  beginning  to  appear  upon  the  surfacce 


70 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


“Monsieur,”  said  Paul  to  Solonet,  “I  thank  you  fo 
the  pains  you  take  to  conciliate  our  interests.  Thi 
arrangement  will  solve  all  difficulties  far  more  happil 
than  I expected  — if,”  he  added,  turning  to  Madam 
Evangelista,  “it  is  agreeable  to  you,  madame;  for 
could  not  desire  anything  that  did  not  equally  pleas* 
you.” 

“I?”  she  said;  “all  that  makes  the  happiness  o: 
my  children  is  joy  to  me.  Do  not  consider  me  in  an] 
way.” 

“That  would  not  be  right,”  said  Paul,  eagerly.  “L 
your  future  is  not  honorably  provided  for,  Natalie 
and  I would  suffer  more  than  you  would  suffer  foi 
yourself.” 

“Don’t  be  uneasy.  Monsieur  le  comte,”  interposed 
Solonet. 

“Ah!”  thought  old  Mathias,  “they’ll  make  him 
kiss  the  rod  before  they  scourge  him.” 

“You  may  feel  quite  satisfied,”  continued  Solonet. 
“There  are  so  many  enterprises  going  on  in  Bordeaux 
at  this  moment  that  investments  for  annuities  can  be 
negotiated  on  very  advantageous  terms.  After  deduct- 
ing from  the  proceeds  of  the  house  and  furniture  the 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  we  owe  you,  I think 
I can  guarantee  to  madame  that  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  will  remain  to  her.  I take  upon  myself  to 
invest  that  sum  in  a first  mortgage  on  property  worth 
a million,  and  to  obtain  ten  per  cent  for  it,  — twenty- 
five  thousand  francs  a year.  Consequently,  we  are 
marrying  on  nearly  equal  fortunes.  In  fact,  against 
your  forty-six  thousand  francs  a year.  Mademoiselle 
Natalie  brings  you  forty  thousand  a year  in  the  Five- 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


71 


per-cents,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  in  a 
round  sum,  which  gives,  in  all,  forty-seven  thousand 
francs  a year.” 

^‘That  is  evident,”  said  Paul. 

As  he  ended  his  speech,  Solonet  had  cast  a sidelong 
glance  at  his  client,  intercepted  by  Mathias,  which 
meant:  ‘‘Bring  up  your  reserves.” 

“But,”  exclaimed  Madame  Evangelista,  in  tones  of 
joy  that  did  not  seem  to  be  feigned,  “I  can  give 
Natalie  my  diamonds;  they  are  worth,  at  least,  a 
hundred  thousand  francs.” 

“We  can  have  them  appraised,”  said  the  notary.” 
“This  will  change  the  whole  face  of  things.  Madame 
can  then  keep  the  proceeds  of  her  house,  all  but  fifty 
thousand  francs.  Nothing  will  prevent  Monsieur  le 
comte  from  giving  us  a receipt  in  due  form,  as  having 
received,  in  full.  Mademoiselle  Natalie’s  inheritance 
from  her  father;  this  will  close,  of  course,  the  guard- 
ianship account.  If  madame,  with  Spanish  gener- 
osity, robs  herself  in  this  way  to  fulfil  her  obligations, 
the  least  that  her  children  can  do  is  to  give  her  a full 
receipt.” 

“Nothing  could  be  more  just  than  that,”  said  Paul. 
“I  am  simply  overwhelmed  by  these  generous  pro- 
posals.” 

“My  daughter  is  another  myself,”  said  Madame 
Evangelista,  softly. 

Maitre  Mathias  detected  a look  of  joy  on  her  face 
when  she  saw  that  the  difficulties  were  being  removed : 
that  joy,  and  the  previous  forgetfulness  of  the  dia- 
monds. which  were  now  brought  forward  like  fresh 
troops,  confirmed  his  suspicions. 


72 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


“The  scene  has  been  prepared  between  them  ag 
gamblers  prepare  the  cards  to  ruin  a pigeon.”  though- 
the  old  notary.*  “Is  this  poor  boy,  whom  I saw  born, 
doomed  to  be  plucked  alive  by  that  woman,  roasted 
by  his  very  love,  and  devoured  by  his  wife?  I,  who 
have  nursed  these  fine  estates  for  years  with  such  care, 
am  I to  see  them  ruined  in  a single  night?  Three 
million  and  a half  to  be  hypothecated  for  eleven  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  these  women  will  force  him  to 
squander!  ” 

Discovering  thus  in  the  soul  of  the  elder  woman 
intentions  which,  without  involving  crime,  theft, 
swindling,  or  any  actually  evil  or  blameworthy  action, 
nevertheless  belonged  to  all  those  criminalities  in 
embryo,  Maitre  Mathias  felt  neither  sorrow  nor  gen- 
erous indignation.  He  was  not  the  Misanthrope;  he 
was  an  old  notary,  accustomed  in  his  business  to  the 
shrewd  calculations  of  worldly  people,  to  those  clever 
bits  of  treachery  which  do  more  fatal  injury  than  open 
murder  on  the  high-road  committed  by  some  poor  devil, 
who  is  guillotined  in  consequence.  To  the  upper 
classes  of  society  these  passages  in  life,  these  diplo- 
matic meetings  and  discussions  are  like  the  necessary 
cesspools  where  the  filth  of  life  is  thrown.  Full  of 
pity  for  his  client,  Mathias  cast  a foreseeing  eye  into 
the  future  and  saw  nothing  good. 

“We  ’ll  take  the  field  with  the  same  weapons,” 
thought  he,  “and  beat  them.” 

At  this  moment,  Paul,  Solonet  and  Madame  Evange- 
lista, becoming  embarrassed  by  the  old  man’s  silence, 
felt  that  the  approval  of  that  censor  was  necessary  to 
carry  out  the  transaction,  and  all  three  turned  to  him 
simultaneously. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


73 


“Well,  my  dear  Monsieur  Mathias,  what  do  you 
link  of  it?”  said  Paul. 

“This  is  what  I think,”  said  the  conscientious  and 
ncomproinising  notary.  “You  are  not  rich  enough 
3 commit  such  regal  folly.  The  estate  of  Lanstrac,  if 
stimated  at  three  per  cent  on  its  rentals,  represents, 
dth  its  furniture,  one  million;  the  farms  of  Gi'assol 
,nd  Guadet  and  your  vineyard  of  Belle- Rose  are  worth 
■nother  million;  your  two  houses  in  Bordeaux  and 
^aris,  with  their  furniture,  a third  million.  Against 
hese  three  millions,  yielding  forty-seven  thousand 
rancs  a year,  Mademoiselle  Natalie  brings  eight 
lundred  thousand  francs  in  the  Five-per-cents,  the 
liamonds  (supposing  them  to  be  worth  a hundred 
housand  francs,  which  is  still  problematical)  and  fifty 
housand  francs  in  money;  in  all,  one  million  and 
ifty  thousand  francs.  In  presence  of  such  facts  my 
3rother  notary  tells  you  boastfully  that  we  are  marry- 
ing equal  fortunes ! He  expects  us  to  encumber  our. 
selves  with  a debt  of  eleven  hundred  and  fifty-six 
thousand  francs  to  our  children  by  acknowledging  the 
Ireceipt  of  our  wife’s  patrimony,  when  we  have  actually 
received  but  little  more  than  a doubtful  million.  You 
are  listening  to  such  stuff  with  the  rapture  of  a lover, 
and  you  think  that  old  Mathias,  who  is  not  in  love, 
can  forget  arithmetic,  and  will  not  point  out  the 
difference  between  landed  estate,  the  actual  value  of 
which  is  enormous  and  constantly  increasing,  and  the 
revenues  of  personal  property,  the  capital  of  which  is 
subject  to  fluctuations  and  dimiuishment  of  income. 
I am  old  enough  to  have  learned  that  money  dwindles 
and  land  augments.  You  have  called  me  in.  Monsieur 


74 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


le  comte,  to  stipulate  for  your  interests ; either  let  m 
defend  those  interests,  or  dismiss  me/’ 

“ If  monsieur  is  seeking  a fortune  equal  in  capita 
to  his  own,”  said  Solonet,  ‘‘we  certainly  cannot  giv( 
it  to  him.  We  do  not  possess  three  millions  and  j 
half;  nothing  can  be  more  evident.  While  you  cai 
boast  of  your  three  overwhelming  millions,  we  cai 
only  produce  our  one  poor  million,  — a mere  nothing 
in  your  eyes,  though  three  times  the  dowry  of  ar 
archduchess  of  Austria.  Bonaparte  received  onlj 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  with  Maria- 
Louisa.” 

“Maria-Louisa  was  the  ruin  of  Bonaparte,”  muttered 
Mathias. 

Natalie’s  mother  caught  the  words. 

“If  my  sacrifices  are  worth  nothing/’  she  cried,  “I 
do  not  choose  to  continue  such  a discussion ; I trusti 
to  the  discretion  of  Monsieur  le  comte,  and  I renounce| 
the  honor  of  his  hand  for  my  daughter.” 

According  to  the  strategy  marked  out  by  the  younger 
notary,  this  battle  of  contending  interests  had  now 
reached  the  point  where  victory  was  certain  for 
Madame  Evangelista.  The  mother-in-law  had  opened 
her  heart,  delivered  up  her  property,  and  was  there- 
fore practically  released  as  her  daughter’s  guardian. 
The  future  husband,  under  pain  of  ignoring  the  laws 
of  generous  propriety  and  being  false  to  love,  ought 
now  to  accept  these  conditions  previously  planned,  and 
cleverly  led  up  to  by  Solonet  and  Madame  Evangelista. 
Like  the  hands  of  a clock  turned  by  mechanism,  Paul 
came  faithfully  up  to  time. 

“Madame!  ” he  exclaimed,  “is  it  possible  you  can 
think  of  breaking  off  the  marriage?  ” 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


75 


“Monsieur,”  she  replied,  “to  whom  am  I account- 
lible?  To  my  daughter.  When  she  is  twenty-one  years 
)f  age  she  will  receive  my  guardianship  account  and 
'elease  me.  She  will  then  possess  a million,  and  can, 
f she  likes,  choose  her  husband  among  the  sons  of 
;he  peers  of  France.  She  is  a daughter  of  the  Casa- 
iReale.” 

, “Madame  is  right,”  remarked  Solonet.  “Why 
should  she  be  more  hardly  pushed  to-day  than  she 
svill  be  fourteen  months  hence?  You  ought  not  to 
ieprive  her  of  the  benefits  of  her  maternity.” 

“Mathias!  ” cried  Paul,  in  deep  distress,  “there  are 
itwo  sorts  of  ruin,  and  you  are  bringing  one  upon  me 
|at  this  moment.” 

He  made  a step  toward  the  old  notary,  no  doubt 
intending  to  tell  him  that  the  contract  must  be  dravn 
iat  once.  But  Mathias  stopped  that  disaster  with  a 
jglance  which  said,  distinctly,  “Wait!”  He  saw  the 
Itears  in  Paul’s  eyes, — tears  drawn  from  an  honorable 
man  by  the  shame  of  this  discussion  as  much  as  by  the 
peremptory  speech  of  Madame  Evangelista,  threaten- 
ing rupture,  — and  the  old  man  stanched  them  with  a 
gesture  like  that  of  Archimedes  when  he  cried, 
“ Eureka!”  The  words  peer  of  France  had  been  to 
him  like  a torch  in  a dark  crypt. 

Natalie  appeared  at  this  moment,  dazzling  as  the 
dawn,  saying,  with  infantine  look  and  manner,  Am 
■ I in  the  way  ? ” 

! “ Singularly  so,  my  child,”  answered  her  mother,  in 

; a bitter  tone. 

“Come  in,  dear  Natalie,”  said  Paul,  taking  hei 
hand  and  leading  her  to  a chair  near  the  fireplace 
“All  is  settled.” 


76 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


He  felt  it  impossible  to  endure  the  overthrow  of 
their  mutual  hopes. 

‘‘Yes,  all  can  be  settled,’’  said  Mathias,  hastily 
interposing. 

Like  a general  who,  in  a moment,  upsets  the  plans 
skilfully  laid  and  prepared  by  the  enemy,  the  old 
notary,  enlightened  by  that  genius  which  presides  over 
notaries,  saw  an  idea,  capable  of  saving  the  future  of 
Paul  and  his  children,  unfolding  itself  in  legal  form 
before  his  eyes. 

Maitre  Solonet,  who  perceived  no  other  way  out  of 
these  irreconcilable  difficulties  than  the  resolution  with 
which  Paul’s  love  inspired  him,  and  to  which  this 
conflict  of  feelings  and  thwarted  interests  had  brought 
him,  was  extremely  surprised  at  the  sudden  exclam- 
ation of  his  brother-notary.  Curious  to  know  the 
remedy  that  Mathias  had  found  in  a state  of  things 
which  had  seemed  to  him  beyond  all  other  relief,  he 
said,  addressing  the  old  man : — 

“What  is  it  you  propose?  ” 

“Natalie,  my  dear  child,  leave  us,”  said  Madame 
Evangelista. 

“Mademoiselle  is  not  in  the  way,” replied  Mathias, 
smiling.  “I  am  going  to  speak  in  her  interests  as  well 
as  in  those  of  Monsieur  le  comte.” 

Silence  reigned  for  a moment,  during  which  time 
everybody  present,  oppressed  with  anxiety,  awaited  the 
allocution  of  the  venerable  notary  with  unspeakable 
curiosity. 

“In  these  days,”  continued  Maitre  Mathias,  after  a 
pause,  “the  profession  of  notary  has  changed  from 
what  it  was.  Political  revolutions  now  exert  an  influ- 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


77 


ence  over  the  prospects  of  families,  which  never  hap- 
pened in  former  times.  In  those  days  existences  were 
clearly  defined;  so  were  rank  and  position  — ” 

‘‘We  are  not  here  for  a lecture  on  political  economy, 
but  to  draw  up  a marriage  contract,”  said  Solonet, 
interrupting  the  old  man,  impatiently. 

“I  beg  you  to  allow  me  to  speak  in  my  turn  as  I see 
fit,”  replied  the  other. 

Solonet  turned  away  and  sat  down  on  the  ottoman, 
saying,  in  a low  voice,  to  Madame  Evangelista:  — 

“You  will  now  hear  what  we  call  in  the  profession 
balderdash.^' 

“Notaries  are  therefore  compelled  to  follow  the 
course  of  political  events,  which  are  now  intimately 
connected  with  private  interests.  Here  is  an  example: 
j formerly  noble  families  owned  fortunes  that  were 
never  shaken,  but  which  the  laws,  promulgated  by  the 
[Revolution,  destroyed,  and  the  present  system  tends 
I to  reconstruct,”  resumed  the  old  notary,  yielding  to 
the  loquacity  of  the  tahellionaris  boa-constrictor  (boa- 
notary).  “Monsieur  le  comte  by  his  name,  his  talents, 
and  his  fortune  is  called  upon  to  sit  some  day  in  the 
elective  Chamber.  Perhaps  his  destiny  will  take  him 
to  the  hereditary  Chamber,  for  we  know  that  he  has 
talent  and  means  enough  to  fulfil  that  expectation. 
Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  madame  ? ” he  added, 
turning  to  the  widow. 

“You  anticipate  my  dearest  hope,”  she  replied. 
“Monsieur  de  Manerville  must  be  a peer  of  France, 
or  I shall  die  of  mortification.” 

“Therefore  all  that  leads  to  that  end  — ” continued 
Mathias  with  a cordial  gesture  to  the  astute  mother 
in-law. 


78 


The  Marriage  Contract- 


“ — will  promote  my  eager  desire,”  she  replied. 
“Well,  then,”  said  Mathias,  “is  not  this  marriage 
the  proper  occasion  on  which  to  entail  the  estate  and 
create  the  family  ? Such  a course  would,  undoubtedly, 
militate  in  the  mind  of  the  present  government  in 
fa\or  of  the  nomination  of  my  client  whenever  a batch 
of  appointments  is  sent  in.  Monsieur  le  comte  can 
very  well  afford  to  devote  the  estate  of  Lanstrac 
(which  is  worth  a million)  to  this  purpose.  I do  not 
ask  that  mademoiselle  should  contribute  an  equal  sum ; 
that  would  not  be  just.  But  we  can  surely  apply  eight 
hundred  thousand  of  her  patrimony  to  this  object. 
There  are  two  domains  adjoining  Lanstrac  now  to  be 
sold,  which  can  be  purchased  for  that  sum,  which  will 
return  in  rentals  four  and  a half  per  cent.  The  house 
in  Paris  should  be  included  in  the  entail.  The  sur- 
plus of  the  two  fortunes,  if  judiciously  managed,  will 
amply  suffice  for  the  fortunes  of  the  younger  children. 
If  the  contracting  parties  will  agree  to  this  arrange- 
ment, Monsieur  ought  certainly  to  accept  your  guard- 
ianship account  with  its  deficiency.  I consent  to 
that.  ” 

“ Qiiesta  coda  non  e di  questo  gatto  (That  tail  does  n’t 
belong  to  that  cat),”  murmured  Madame  Evangelista, 
appealing  to  Solonet. 

“There ’s  a snake  in  the  grass  somewhere,” 
answered  Solonet,  in  a low  voice,  replying  to  the 
Italian  proverb  with  a French  one. 

“Why  do  you  make  this  fuss?”  asked  Paul,  leading 
Mathias  into  the  adjoining  salon. 

“To  save  you  from  being  ruined,”  replied  the  old 
notary,  in  a whisper.  “You  are  determined  to  marry 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


79 


girl  and  her  mother  who  have  already  squandered 
wo  millions  in  seven  years;  you  are  pledging  your- 
elf  to  a debt  of  eleven  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
our  children,  to  whom  you  will  have  to  account  for 
he  fortune  you  are  acknowledging  to  have  received 
dth  their  mother.  You  risk  having  your  own  fortune 
quandered  in  five  years,  and  to  be  left  as  naked  as 
laint-John  himself,  besides  being  a debtor  to  your 
afe  and  children  for  enormous  sums.  If  you  are 
.etermined  to  put  your  life  in  that  boat.  Monsieur  le 
omte,  of  course  you  can  do  as  you  choose;  but  at 
east  let  me,  your  old  friend,  try  to  save  the  house  of 
danerville.” 

“How is  this  scheme  going  to  save  it?”  asked  Paul. 

“Monsieur  le  comte,  you  are  in  love  — ” 

“Yes.” 

“A  lover  is  about  as  discreet  as  a cannon-ball; 
herefore,  I shall  not  explain.  If  you  repeated  what 
; should  say,  your  marriage  would  probably  be  broken 
iff.  I protect  your  love  by  my  silence.  Have  you 
ionfidence  in  my  devotion?  ” 

“A  fine  question!  ” 

“Well,  then,  believe  me  when  I tell  you  that  Madame 
Wangelista,  her  notary,  and  her  daughter,  are  tricking 
IS  through  thick  and  thin ; they  are  more  than  clever. 
Tudieu!  what  a sly  game!  ” 

“Not  Natalie?  ” cried  Paul. 

“I  sha’n’t  put  my  fingers  between  the  bark  and  the 
Tee,”  said  the  old  man.  “You  want  her,  take  her! 
Sut  I wish  you  were  well  out  of  this  marriage,  if  it 
;ould  be  done  without  the  least  wrong-doing  on  your 
part.” 


80  The  Marriage  Contract, 

‘Why  do  you  wish  it?  ’’ 

“Because  that  girl  will  spend  the  mines  of  Peru 
Besides,  see  how  she  rides  a horse,  --  like  the  groor 
of  a circus;  she  is  half  emancipated  already.  Sue) 
girls  make  bad  wives.’' 

Paul  pressed  the  old  man’s  hand,  saying,  with  j 
confident  air  of  self-conceit:  — 

“Don’t  be  uneasy  as  to  that!  But  now,  at  thh 
moment,  what  am  I to  do  ? ” 

“Hold  firm  to  my  conditions.  They  will  consent 
for  no  one’s  apparent  interest  is  injured.  Madam( 
Evangelista  is  very  anxious  to  marry  her  daughter;  J 
see  that  in  her  little  game  — Beware  of  her!  ” 

Paul  returned  to  the  salon^  where  he  found  his  future 
mother-in-law  conversing  in  a low  tone  with  Solonet, 
just  as  he  himself  had  been  conversing  with  Mathias. 
Natalie,  kept  outside  of  these  mysterious  conferences, 
was  playing  with  a screen.  Embarrassed  by  her  posi- 
tion, she  was  thinking  to  herself:  “How  odd  it  is  that 
they  tell  me  nothing  of  my  own  affairs.” 

The  younger  notary  had  seized,  in  the  main,  the 
future  effect  of  the  new  proposal,  based,  as  it  was,  on 
the  self-love  of  both  parties,  into  which  his  client 
had  fallen  headlong.  Now,  while  Mathias  was  morei 
than  a mere  notary,  Solonet  was  still  a young  man, 
and  brought  into  his  business  the  vanity  of  youth. 
It  often  happens  that  personal  conceit  makes  a man 
forgetful  of  the  interests  of  his  client.  In  this 
case,  Maitre  Solonet,  who  would  not  suffer  the  widow 
to  think  that  Nestor  had  vanquished  Achilles,  advised 
her  to  conclude  the  marriage  on  the  terms  pro- 
posed. Little  he  cared  tor  the  future  working  of 


81 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

he  marriage  contract;  to  him,  the  conditions  of 
dctory  were:  Madame  Ilvangelista  released  from  her 
•bligations  as  guardian,  her  future  secured,  and 
'fatal  ie  married. 

^^Bordeaux  shall  know  that  you  have  ceded  eleven 
lundred  thousand  francs  to  your  daughter,  and  that 
rou  still  have  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a year  left,” 
vhispered  Solouet  to  his  client.  “For  my  part,  I did 
lot  expect  to  obtain  such  a fine  result. 

“But,”  she  said,  “explain  to  me  why  the  creation  of 
;his  entail  should  have  calmed  the  storm  at  once.” 

“It  relieves  their  distrust  of  you  and  of  your 
laughter.  An  entail  is  unchangeable;  neither  hus- 
band nor  wife  can  touch  that  capital. 

“Then  this  arrangement  is  positively  insulting! 

“No;  we  call  it  simply  precaution.  The  old  fel- 
low has  caught  you  in  a net.  If  you  refuse  to  consent 
|;o  the  entail,  he  can  reply:  ‘Then  your  object  is  to 
squander  the  fortune  of  my  client,  who,  by  the  crea- 
tion of  this  entajl,  is  protected  from  all  such  injury 
p,s  securely  as  if  the  marriage  took  place  under  the 
Ycgline  dotal,^  ’’ 

Solonet  quieted  his  own  scruples  by  reflecting: 
“After  all,  these  stipulations  will  take  effect  only  ni 
the  future,  by  which  time  Madame  Evangelista  will 
[be  dead  and  buried.” 

I Madame  Evangelista  contented  herself,  for  the  pies- 
lent,  with  these  explanations,  having  full  confidence 
in  Solonet.  She  was  wholly  ignorant  of  law;  consid- 
iering  her  daughter  as  good  as  married,  she  thought 
she  had  gained  her  end,  and  was  filled  with  the  joy  of 
success.  Thus,  as  Mathias  had  shrewdly  calculated, 

6 


82 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


neither  Solonet  nor  Madame  Evangelista  understoo( 
as  yet,  to  its  full  extent,  this  scheme  which  he  hac 
based  on  reasons  that  were  undeniable. 

“Well,  Monsieur  Mathias,”  said  the  widow,  “all  h 
for  the  best,  is  it  not?  ” 

“Madame,  if  you  and  Monsieur  le  comte  consent 
to  this  arrangement  you  ought  to  exchange  pledgeSj 
It  is  fully  understood,  I suppose,”  he  continued,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other,  “that  the  marriage  will  onlj 
take  place  on  condition  of  creating  an  entail  upon 
the  estate  of  Lanstrac  and  the  house  in  the  rue  de  la 
Pepiniere,  together  with  eight  hundred  thousand  francs 
in  money  brought  by  the  future  wife,  the  said  sum 
to  be  invested  in  landed  property?  Pardon  me  the 
repetition,  madame ; but  a positive  and  solemn  engage- 
ment becomes  absolutely  necessary.  The  creation 
of  an  entail  requires  formalities,  application  to  the 
chancellor,  a royal  ordinance,  and  we  ought  at  once 
to  conclude  the  purchase  of  the  new  estate  in  order 
that  the  property  be  included  in  the  royal  ordinance 
by  virtue  of  which  it  becomes  inalienable.  In  many 
families  this  would  be  reduced  to  writing,  but  on  this 
occasion  I think  a simple  consent  will  suffice.  Do 
you  consent?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Madame  Evangelista. 

“Yes,”  said  Paul. 

“And  I?  ” asked  Natalie,  laughing. 

“You  are  a minor,  mademoiselle,”  replied  Solonet; 
“don’t  complain  of  that.” 

It  was  then  agreed  that  Maitre  Mathias  should  draw 
up  the  contract,  Maitre  Solonet  the  guardianship 
account  and  release,  and  that  both  documents  should 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


83 


e signed,  as  the  law  requires  some  days  before  the 
elebration  of  the  marriage.  After  a few  polite  salu- 
rtions  the  notaries  withdrew. 

“It  rains,  Mathias;  shall  I take  you  home?’"  said 
olonet.  “My  cabriolet  is  here.” 

“My  carriage  is  here,  too,”  said  Paul,  manifesting 
n intention  to  accompany  the  old  man. 

“I  won’t  rob  you  of  a moment’s  pleasure,”  said 
lathias.  “I  accept  my  friend  Solonet’s  offer.” 

“Well,”  said  Achilles  to  Nestor,  as  the  cabriolet 
oWed  away,  “you  have  been  truly  patriarchal  to-night, 
'he  fact  is,  those  young  people  would  certainly  have 
uined  themselves.” 

“I  felt  anxious  about  their  future,”  replied  Mathias, 
eeping  silence  as  to  the  real  motives  of  his  propo- 
ition. 

At  this  moment  the  two  notaries  were  like  a pair 
f actors  arm  in  arm  behind  the  stage  on  which  they 
ave  played  a scene  of  hatred  and  provocation. 

“But,”  said  Solonet,  thinking  of  his  rights  as 
otary,  “isn’t  it  my  place  to  buy  that  land  you 
lentioned?  The  money  is  part  of  our  dowry.” 

“How  can  you  put  property  bought  in  the  name  of 
lademoiselle  Evangelista  into  the  creation  of  an 
ntail  by  the  Comte  de  Manerville?  ” replied  MathiaSo 

^^We  shall  have  to  ask  the  chancellor  about  that,” 
aid  Solonet. 

“But  1 am  the  notary  of  the  seller  as  well  as  of  the 
)uyer  of  that  land,”  said  Mathias.  “Besides,  Mon- 
ieur  de  Manerville  can  buy  in  his  own  name.  At  the 
ime  of  payment  we  can  make  mention  of  the  fact  that 
he  dowry  funds  are  put  into  it.” 


84 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


“You  ’ve  an  answer  for  everything,  old  man, 
said  Solonet,  laughing.  “You  were  really  surpassin 
to-night;  you  beat  us  squarely.’’ 

“For  an  old  fellow  who  didn’t  expect  your  batterie 
of  grape-shot,  I did  pretty  well,  did  n’t  I? 

“Ha!  ha!  ha!”  laughed  Solonet. 

The  odious  struggle  in  which  the  material  welfare  o 
a family  had  been  so  perilously  near  destruction  wa 
to  the  two  notaries  nothing  more  than  a matter  o 
professional  polemics. 

“1  have  n’t  been  forty  years  in  harness  for  nothing,' 
remarked  Mathias.  “Look  here,  Solonet,”  he  added 
“I’m  a good  fellow;  you  shall  help  in  drawing  th 
deeds  for  the  sale  of  those  lands.” 

“Thanks,  my  dear  Mathias.  I ’ll  serve  you  ii 
return  on  the  very  first  occasion.” 

While  the  two  notaries  were  peacefully  returning 
homeward,  with  no  other  sensations  than  a litth 
throaty  warmth,  Paul  and  Madame  Evangelista  wen 
left  a prey  to  the  nervous  trepidation,  the  quivering 
of  the  flesh  and  brain  which  excitable  natures  pasi 
through  after  a scene  in  which  their  interests  anc 
their  feelings  have  been  violently  shaken.  In  Madams 
Evangelista  these  last  mutterings  of  the  storm  wen 
overshadowed  by  a terrible  reflection,  a lurid  glean 
which  she  wanted,*  at  any  cost,  to  dispel. 

‘^Has  Maitre  Mathias  destroyed  in  a few  minutes 
the  work  I have  been  doing  for  six  months?”  she 
asked  herself.  “Was  he  withdrawing  Paul  from  mj 
influence  by  filling  his  mind  with  suspicion  during 
their  secret  conference  in  the  next  room  ? ” 

She  was  standing  absorbed  in  these  thoughts  before 


85 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

le  fireplace,  her  elbow  resting  on  the  marble  mantel- 
iielf.  When  the  porte-cochere  closed  behind  the  car- 
iage  of  the  two  notaries,  she  turned  to  her  future 
on-in-law,  impatient  to  solve  her  doubts. 

“ This  has  been  the  most  terrible  day  of  my  life, 
ried  Paul,  overjoyed  to  see  all  difficulties  vanish. 

I know  no  one  so  downright  in  speech  as  that  old 
lathias.  May  God  hear  him,  and  make  me  peer  of 
-Tance!  Dear  Natalie,  I desire  this  for  your  sake 
nore  than  for  my  own.  You  are  my  ambition;  I live 
mly  in  you.” 

Hearing  this  speech  uttered  in  the  accents  o e 
leart,  and  noting,  more  especially,  the  limpid  azure 
)f  Paul’s  eyes,  whose  glance  betrayed  no  thought  o 
iouble  meaning,  Madame  Evangelista’s  satisfaction 
svas  complete.  She  regretted  the  sharp  language  with 
which  she  had  spurred  him,  and  in  the  joy  of  success 
she  resolved  to  reassure  him  as  to  the  future.  Calm- 
ing  her  countenance,  and  giving  to  her  eyes  t a 
expression  of  tender  friendship  which  made  her  so 
'attractive,  she  smiled  and  answered: 

“I  can  say  as  much  to  you.  Perhaps,  dear  Paul, 
my  Spanish  nature  led  me  farther  than  my  heait 
desired.  Be  what  you  are,  — kind  as  God  himself, 
and  do  not  be  angry  with  me  for  a few  hasty  words. 

Shake  hands.”  , 

Paul  was  abashed ; he  fancied  himself  to  blame,  and 

he  kissed  Madame  Evangelista. 

“Dear  Paul,”  she  said  with  much  emotion,  why 
could  not  those  two  sharks  have  settled  this  matter 
without  dragging  us  into  it,  since  it  was  so  easy  to 

! settle?  ” 


86 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


‘‘In  that  case  I should  not  have  known  how  grand 
and  generous  you  can  be/’  replied  Paul. 

“Indeed  she  is,  Paul!”  cried  Natalie,  pressing  his 
hand. 

“We  have  still  a few  little  matters  to  settle,  my 
dear  son,”  said  Madame  Evangelista.  “My  daughter 
and  I are  above  the  foolish  vanities  to  which  so  many^ 
persons  cling.  Natalie  does  not  need  my  diamonds, 
but  I am  glad  to  give  them  to  her.” 

“Ah!  my  dear  mother,  do  you  suppose  that  I will 
accept  them  ? ” 

“Yes,  my  child;  they  are  one  of  the  conditions  of 
the  contract.” 

“I  will  not  allow  it;  I will  not  marry  at  all,”  cried 
Natalie,  vehemently.  “Keep  those  jewels  which  my 
father  took  such  pride  in  collecting  for  you.  How 
could  Monsieur  Paul  exact  — ” 

“Hush,  my  dear,”  said  her  mother,  whose  eyes  now‘ 
filled  with  tears.  “My  ignorance  of  business  compels; 
me  to  a greatei  sacrifice  than  that.” 

“What  sacrifice?  ” 

“I  must  sell  my  house  in  order  to  pay  the  money 
that  I owe  to  you.” 

“What  money  can  you  possibly  owe  to  me?”  she 
said;  “to  me,  who  owe  you  life!  If  my  marriage 
costs  you  the  slightest  sacrifice,  I will  not  marry.” 
“Child!” 

“Dear  Natalie,  try  to  understand  that  neither  I,  nor 
your  mother,  nor  you  yourself,  require  these  sacrifices, 
but  our  children.” 

“Suppose  I do  not  marry  at  all?  ” 

“ Do  you  not  love  me  ? ” said  Paul,  tenderly. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


87 


“Come,  come,  my  silly  child;  do  you  imagine  that 

contract  is  like  a house  of  cards  which  you  can 
low  down  at  will?  Dear  little  ignoramus,  you  don’t 
now  what  trouble  we  have  had  to  found  an  entail 
or  the  benefit  of  your  eldest  son.  Don’t  cast  us 
,ack  into  the  discnssions  from  which  we  have  just 
scaped.” 

“Why  do  you  wish  to  ruin  my  mother?  ” said  Natalie, 
ooking  at  Paul. 

“Why  are  you  so  rich?  ” he  replied,  smiling. 

“Don’t  quarrel,  my  children,  you  are  not  yet  mar- 
led,” said  Madame  Evangelista.  “Paul,”  she  con- 
inued,  “you  are  not  to  give  either  corbeille,  or  jewels, 
)r  trousseau.  Na;talie  has  everything  in  profusion, 
iiay  by  the  money  you  would  otherwise  put  into  wed- 
ling  presents.  I know  nothing  more  stupidly  bour- 
geois and  commonplace  than  to  spend  a hundred 
thousand  francs  on  a corbeille,  when  five  thousand 
i year  given  to  a young  woman  saves  her  much  anxiety 
md  lasts  her  lifetime.  Besides,  the  money  for  a cor- 
beille is  needed  to  decorate  your  house  in  Paris.  We 
svill  return  to  Lanstrac  in  the  spring;  for  Solonet  is  to 
settle  my  debts  during  the  winter.” 

“All  is  for  the  best,”  cried  Paul,  at  the  summit  of 

happiness.” 

“So  I shall  see  Paris!  ” cried  Natalie,  in  a tone  that 
would  justly  have  alarmed  de  Marsay. 

“If  we  decide  upon  this  plan,”  said  Paul,  “I  11 
write  to  de  Marsay  and  get  him  to  take  a box  for  me 
at  the  Bouffons  and  also  at  the  Italian  opera.” 

“You  are  very  kind;  I should  never  have  dared  to 
ask  for  it,”  said  Natalie.  “Marriage  is  a very  agree- 


88 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


able  institution  if  it  gives  husbands  a talent  foi 
divining  the  wishes  of  their  wives.” 

is  nothing  else,”  replied  Paul.  ‘‘But  see  hoi^ 
late  it  is;  I ought  to  go.” 

“Why leave  so  soon  to-night?”  said  Madame  Evan- 
gelista, employing  those  coaxing  ways  to  which  mec 
are  so  sensitive. 

Though  all  this  passed  on  the  best  of  terms,  and 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  most  exquisite  politeness, 
the  effect  of  the  discussion  of  these  contending  in- 
terests had,  nevertheless,  cast  between  son  and  mother- 
in-law  a seed  of  distrust  and  enmitv  which  was  liable 
to  sprout  under  the  first  heat  of  anger,  or  the  warmth 
of  a feeling  too  harshly  bruised.  In  most  families 
the  settlement  of  dots  and  the  deeds  of  gift  required 
by  a marriage  contract  give  rise  to  primitive  emotions 
of  hostility,  caused  by  self-love,  by  the  lesion  of  cer- 
tain sentiments,  by  regret  for  the  sacrifices  made,  and 
by  the  desire  to  diminish  them.  When  difficulties 
arise  there  is  always  a victorious  side  and  a van- 
quished one.  The  parents  of  the  future  pair  try  to 
conclude  the  matter,  which  is  purely  commercial  in 
their  eyes,  to  their  own  advantage ; and  this  leads  to 
the  trickery,  shrewdness,  and  deception  of  such  nego- 
tiations. Generally  the  husband  alone  is  initiated 
into  the  secret  of  these  discussions,  and  the  wife  is 
kept,  like  Natalie,  in  ignorance  of  the  stipulations 
which  make  her  rich  or  poor. 

As  he  left  the  house,  Paul  reflected  that,  thanks  to 
the  cleverness  of  his  notar}^,  his  fortune  was  almost 
entirely  secured  from  injury.  If  Madame  Evangelista 
did  not  live  apart  from  her  daughter  their  united 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


89 


household  would  have  an  income  of  more  than  a hun^ 
dred  thousand  francs  to  spend.  All  his  expectations 
of  a happy  and  comfortable  life  would  be  realized. 

‘‘My  mother-in-law  seems  to  me  an  excellent 
woman,”  he  thought,  still  under  the  influence  of  the 
cajoling  manner  by  which  she  had  endeavored  to  dis- 
perse the  clouds  raised  by  the  discussion.  “Mathias 
is  mistaken.  These  notaries  are  strange  fellows ; they 
envenom  everything.  The  harm  started  from  that 
little  cock-sparrow  Solonet,  who  wanted  to  play  a 
clever  game.” 

While  Paul  went  to  bed  recapitulating  the  advan- 
tages he  had  won  during  the  evening,  Madame 
Evangelista  was  congratulating  herself  equally  on  her 
victory. 

“Well,  darling  mother,  are  you  satisfied?”  said 
Natalie,  following  Madame  Evangelista  into  her  bed- 
room. 

“Yes,  love,”  replied  the  mother,  “everything  went 
well,  according  to  my  wishes;  I feel  a weight  lifted 
from  my  shoulders  which  was  crushing  me.  Paul  is 
a most  easy-going  man.  Dear  fellow ! yes,  certainly, 
we  must  make  his  life  prosperous.  You  will  make 
him  happy,  and  I will  be  responsible  for  his  political 
success.  The  Spanish  ambassador  used  to  be  a friend 
of  mine,  and  I ’ll  renew  the  relation  — as  I will  with 
the  rest  of  my  old  acquaintance.  Oh!  you  ’ll  see!  we 
shall  soon  be  in  the  very  heart  of  Parisian  life;  all  will 
be  enjoyment  for  us.  You  shall  have  the  pleasures,  my 
dearest,  and  I the  last  occupation  of  existence,  — the 
game  of  ambition!  Don’t  be  alarmed  when  you  see 
me  selling  this  house.  Do  you  suppose  we  shall  ever 


90 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


come  back  to  live  in  Bordeaux?  no.  Lanstrac?  jes. 
But  we  shall  spend  all  our  winters  in  Paris,  where  oui 
real  interests  will  be.  Well,  Natalie,  tell  me,  was  it 
very  difficult  to  do  what  1 asked  of  you?  ” 

“My  little  mamma!  every  now  and  then  I felt 
ashamed.” 

'‘Solonet  advises  me  to  put  the  proceeds  of  this 
house  into  an  annuity,”  said  Madame  Evangelista, 
“but  I shall  do  otherwise;  I won’t  take  a penny  of 
my  fortune  from  you.” 

“I  saw  you  were  all  very  angry,”  said  Natalie. 
“How  did  the  tempest  calm  down?” 

“By  an  offer  of  my  diamonds,”  replied  Madame 
Evangelista.  “Solonet  was  right.  How  ably  he  con- 
ducted the  whole  affair.  Get  out  my  jewel-case, 
Natalie.  I have  never  seriously  considered  what  my 
diamonds  are  worth.  When.  I said  a hundred  thou- 
sand francs  I talked  nonsense.  Madame  de  Gyas 
always  declared  that  the  necklace  and  ear-rings  your 
father  gave  me  on  our  marriage  day  were  worth  at 
least  that  sum.  My  poor  husband  was  so  lavish! 
Then  my  family  diamond,  the  one  Philip  the  Second 
gave  to  the  Duke  of  Alba,  and  which  my  aunt  be-  > 
queathed  to  me,  the  Discreto^  was,  I think,  appraised 
in  former  times  at  four  thousand  quadruples,— one  of 
our  Spanish  gold -coins. 

Natalie  laid  out  upon  her  mother’s  toilet-table  the 
pearl  necklace,  the  sets  of  jewels,  the  gold  bracelets 
and  precious  stones  of  all  description,  with  that  inex-  j 
pressible  sensation  enjoyed  by  certain  w’omen  at  the  i 
sight  of  such  treasures,  by  which  — so  commentators 
on  the  Talmud  say  — the  fallen  angels  seduce  the 


Vhe  Marriage  Contract. 


91 


daughters  of  men,  having  sought  these  flowers  of 
celestial  fire  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

Certainly,”  said  Madame  Evangelista,  “though 
I know  nothing  about  jewels  except  how  to  accept 
and  wear  them,  I think  there  must  be  a great  deal  of 
money  in  these.  Then,  if  we  make  but  one  house- 
hold, I can  sell  my  plate,  the  weight  of  which,  as  mere 
silver,  would  bring  thirty  thousand  francs.  I remem- 
ber when  we  brought  it  from  Lima,  the  custom-house 
officers  weighed  and  appraised  it.  Solonet  is  right. 
I ’ll  send  to-morrow  to  Elie  Magus.  The  Jew  shall 
estimate  the  value  of  these  things.  Perhaps  I can 
avoid  sinking  any  of  my  fortune  in  an  annuity.”' 

“What  a beautiful  pearl  necklace!  ” said  Natalie. 

“He  ought  to  give  it  to  you,  if  he  loves  you,” 
replied  her  mother;  “and  I think  he  might  have  all 
my  other  jewels  reset  and  let  you  keep  them.  The 
diamonds  are  a part  of  your  property  in  the  contract. 
And  now,  good-night,  my  darling.  After  the  fatigues 
of  this  day  we  both  need  rest.” 

The  woman  of  luxury,  the  creole,  the  great  lady, 
incapable  of  analyzing  the  results  of  a contract  which 
was  not  yet  in  force,  went  to  sleep  in  the  joy  of  see- 
ing her  daughter  married  to  a man  who  was  easy  to 
manage,  who  would  let  them  both  be  mistresses  of 
his  home,  and  whose  fortune,  united  to  theirs,  would 
require  no  change  in  their  way  of  living.  Thus  hav- 
ing settled  her  account  with  her  daughter,  whose 
patrimony  was  acknowledged  in  the  contract,  Madame 
Evangelista  could  feel  at  her  ease. 

“How  foolish  of  me  to  worry  as  I did,”  she  thought. 
“But  I wish  the  marriage  were  well  over.” 


92 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


So  Madame  Evangelista,  Paul,  Natalie,  and  the 
two  notaries  were  equally  satisfied  with  the  first  day’s 
result.  The  Te  Deum  was  sung  in  both  camps,  — a 
dangerous  situation;  for  there  comes  a moment  when 
the  vanquished  side  is  aware  of  its  mistake.  To 
Madame  Evangelista’s  mind,  her  son-in-law  was  the 
vanquished  side. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


93 


IV. 


THE  MARRIAGE-CONTRACT  — SECOND  DAY. 

The  next  day  Elie  Magus  (who  happened  at  that 
time  to  be  in  Bordeaux)  obeyed  Madame  Evangelista’s 
summons,  believing,  from  general  rumor  as  to  the 
marriage  of  Comte  Paul  with  Mademoiselle  Natalie, 
that  it  concerned  a purchase  of  jewels  for  the  bride. 
The  Jew  was,  therefore,  astonished  when  he  learned 
that,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  sent  for  to  estimate  the 
value  of  the  mother-in-law’s  property.  The  instinct 
of  his  race,  as  well  as  certain  insidious  questions, 
made  him  aware  that  the  value  of  the  diamonds  was 
included  in  the  marriage-contract.  The  stones  were 
not  to  be  sold,  and  yet  he  was  to  estimate  them  as  if 
some  private  person  were  buying  them  from  a dealer. 
Jewellers  alone  know  how  to  distinguish  between  the 
diamonds  of  Asia  and  those  of  Brazil.  The  stones  of 
Golconda  and  Visapur  are  known  by  a whiteness  and 
glittering  brilliancy  which  others  have  not,  — the  water 
of  the  Brazilian  diamonds  having  a yellow  tinge  which 
reduces  their  selling  value.  Madame  Evangelista  s 
necklace  and  ear-rings,  being  composed  entirely  of 
Asiatic  diamonds,  were  valued  by  Elie  Magus  at 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  As  for  the 
Discrete^  he  pronounced  it  one  of  the  finest  diamonds 


94 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


in  the  possession  of  private  persons ; it  was  known  to 
tne  trade  and  valued  at  one’ hundred  thousand  francs. 
On  hearing  this  estimate,  which  proved  to  her  the 
lavishness  of  her  husband,  Madame  Evangelista  asked 
the  old  Jew  whether  she  should  be  able  to  obtain  that 
money  immediately. 

“Madame,”  replied  the  Jew,  ‘‘if  you  wish  to  sell 
I can  give  you  only  seventy-five  thousand  for  the 
brilliant,  and  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  for 
the  necklace  and  earrings.” 

“Why  such  reduction?  ” 

“Madame,”  replied  Magus, “ the  finer  the  diamond, 
the  longer  we  keep  it  unsold.  The  rarity  of  such 
investments  is  one  reason  for  the  high  value  set  upon 
precious  stones.  As  the  merchant  cannot  lose  the 
interest  of  his  money,  this  additional  sum,  joined  to 
the  rise  and  fall  to  which  such  merchandise  is  subject, 
explains  the  difference  between  the  price  of  purchase 
and  the  price  of  sale.  By  owning  these  diamonds 
you  have  lost  the  interest  on  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  for  twenty  years.  If  you  wear  your  jewels  ten 
times  a year,  it  costs  you  three  thousand  francs  each 
evening  to  put  them  on.  How  many  beautiful  gowns 
you  could  buy  with  that  sum.  Those  who  own  dia- 
monds are,  therefore,  very  foolish;  but,  luckily  for 
us,  women  are  never  willing  to  understand  the  cal- 
culation.” 

“I  thank  you  for  explaining  it  to  me,  and  I shall 
profit  by  it.” 

“Do  you  wish  to  sell?  ” asked  Magus,  eagerly. 

“What  are  the  other  jewels  worth?  ” 

The  Jew  examined  the  gold  of  the  settings,  held  the 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


95 


oearls  to  the  light,  scrutinized  the  rubies,  the  diadems, 
clasps,  bracelets,  and  chains,  and  said,  in  a mumbling 
tone : — 

“A  good  many  Portuguese  diamonds  from  Brazil 
are  among  them.  They  are  not  worth  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  to  me.  But,”  he  added,  a dealer 
would  sell  them  to  a customer  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand,  at  least. 

“I  shall  keep  them,”  said  Madame  Evangelista. 

' “You  are  wrong,”  replied  Elie  Magus.  “With  the 
income  from  the  sum  they  represent  you  could  buy 
just  as  fine  diamonds  in  five  years,  and  have  the 
capital  to  boot.” 

This  singular  conference  became  known,  and  cor- 
roborated certain  rumors  excited  by  the  discussion  of 
the  contract.  The  servants  of  the  house,  overhearing 
high  voices,  supposed  the  difficulties  greater  than  they 
really  were.  Their  gossip  with  other  valets  spread  the 
information,  which  from  the  lower  regions  rose  to  the 
ears  of  the  masters.  The  attention  of  society,  and  of 
the  town  in  general,  became  so  fixed  on  the  marriage 
of  two  persons  equally  rich  and  well-born,  that  every 
one,  great  and  small,  busied  themselves  about  the 
matter,  and  in  less  than  a week  the  strangest  rumors 
were  bruited  about. 

“Madame  Evangelista  sells  her  house;  she  must  be 
ruined.  She  offered  her  diamonds  to  Elie  Magus. 
Nothing  is  really  settled  between  herself  and  the 
I Comte  de  Manerville.  Is  it  probable  that  the  mar- 
I riage  will  ever  take  place?  ” 

; To  this  question  some  answered  yes,  and  others 
i said  no.  The  two  notaries,  when  questioned,  denied 


96 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


these  calumnies,  and  declared  that  the  difficulties  arose 
only  from  the  official  delay  in  constituting  the  entail. 
But  when  public  opinion  has  taken  a trend  in  one 
direction  it  is  very  difficult  to  turn  it  back.  Though 
Paul  went  every  day  to  Madame  Evangelista’s  house, 
and  though  the  notaries  denied  these  assertions  con- 
tinually, the  whispered  calumny  went  on.  Young 
girls,  and  their  mothers  and  aunts,  vexed  at  a mar- 
riage they  had  dreamed  of  for  themselves  or  for  their 
families,  could  not  forgive  the  Spanish  ladies  for  their 
happiness,  as  authors  cannot  forgive  each  other  for 
their  success.  A few  persons  revenged  themselves  for 
the  twenty-years  luxury  and  grandeur  of  the  family 
of  Evangelista,  which  had  lain  heavily  on  their  self- 
love.  A leading  personage  at  the  prefecture  declared 
that  the  notaries  could  have  chosen  no  other  language 
and  followed  no  other  conduct  in  the  case  of  a rupture. 
The  time  actually  required  for  the  establishment  of 
the  entail  confirmed  the  suspicions  of  the  Bordeaux 
provincials. 

“They  will  keep  the  ball  going  through  the  winter; 
then,  in  the  spring,  they  will  go  to  some  watering- 
place,  and  we  shall  learn  before  the  year  is  out  that 
the  marriage  is  off.” 

“And,  of  course,  we  shall  be  given  to  understand,” 
said  others,  “for  the  sake  of  the  honor  of  the  two 
families,  that  the  difficulties  did  not  come  from  either 
side,  but  the  chancellor  refused  to  consent;  you  may 
be  sure  it  will  be  some  quibble  about  that  entail  which 
will  cause  the  rupture.” 

“Madame  Evangelista,”  some  said,  “lived  in  a 
stvle  that  the  mines  of  Valenciana  could  n’t  meet. 


The  Marfiage  Contract. 


97 


VYhen  the  time  came  to  melt  the  bell,  and  pay  the 
laughter’s  patrimony,  nothing  would  be  found  to  pay 
it  with.” 

The  occasion  was  excellent  to  add  up  the  spendings 
Df  the  handsome  widow  and  prove,  categorically,  her 
ruin.  Rumors  were  so  rife  that  bets  were  made  for 
and  against  the  marriage.  By  the  laws  of  worldly 
I'jurisprudence  this  gossip  was  not  allowed  to  reach  the 
iears  of  the  parties  concerned.  No  one  was  enemy  or 
friend  enough  to  Paul  or  to  Madame  livangelista  to 
inform  either  of  what  was  being  said.  Paul  had  some 
business  at  Lanstrac,  and  used  the  occasion  to  make  a 
i hunting-party  for  several  of  the  young  men  of  Bor- 
deaux,—a sort  of  farewell,  as  it  were,  to  his  bachelor 
life.  This  hunting  party  was  accepted  by  society  as 
a signal  confirmation  of  public  suspicion. 

When  this  event  occurred,  Madame  de  Gyas,  who 
had  a daughter  to  marry,  thought  it  high  time  to 
sound  the  matter,  and  to  condole,  with  joyful  heart, 
i the  blow  received  by  the  Ilvangelistas.  Natalie  and 
iher  mother  were  somewhat  surprised  to  see  the 
(lengthened  face  of  the  marquise,  and  they  asked  at 
i once  if  anything  distressing  had  happened  to  her. 

“Can  it  be,”  she  replied,  “that  you  are  ignorant  of 
;i  the  rumors  that  are  circulating?  Though  I think  them 
ij  false  myself,  I have  come  to  learn  the  truth  in  order 

■ to  stop  this  gossip,  at  any  rate  among  the  circle  of 
my  own  friends.  To  be  the  dupes  or  the  accomplices 

: of  such  an  error  is  too  false  a position  for  true  friends 

■ to  occupy.” 

“But  what  is  it?  what  has  happened?”  asked 
mother  and  daughter. 


7 


98  The  Marriage  Contract. 

Madame  de  Gyas  thereupon  allowed  herself  the  hap 
piness  of  repeating  all  the  current  gossip,  not  sparing 
her  two  friends  a single  stab.  Natalie  and  Madame 
Evangelista'  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed,  but 
they  fully  understood  the  meaning  of  the  tale  and  the 
motives  of  their  friend.  The  Spanish  lady  took  her 
revenge  very  much  as  Celimene  took  hers  on  Arsinoe. 

“My  dear,  are  you  ignorant  — you  who  know  the! 
provinces  so  well  — can  you  be  ignorant  of  what  a I 
mother  is  capable  when  she  has  on  her  hands  a daugh- 
ter  whom  she  cannot  marry  for  want  of  dot  and  lovers, 
want  of  beauty,  want  of  mind,  and,  sometimes,  want 
of  everything?  Why,  a mother  in  that  position  would 
rob  a diligence  or  commit  a murder,  or  wait  for  a man 
at  the  corner  of  a street  — she  would  sacrifice  herself 
twenty  times  over,  if  she  was  a mother  at  all.  Now, 
as  you  and  I both  know,  there  are  many  such  in  that 
situation  in  Bordeaux,  and  no  doubt  they  attribute  to 
us  their  own  thoughts  and  actions.  Naturalists  have 
depicted  the  habits  and  customs  of  many  ferocious 
animals,  but  they  have  forgotten  the  mother  and 
daughter  in  quest  of  a husband.  Such  women  are 
hyenas,  going  about,  as  the  Psalmist  says,  seeking 
whom  they  may  devour,  and  adding  to  the  instinct  of 
the  brute  the  intellect  of  man,  and  the  genius  of 
woman.  I can  understand  that  those  little  spiders. 
Mademoiselle  de  Belor,  Mademoiselle  de  Trans,  and 
others,  after  working  so  long  at  their  webs  without 
catching  a fiy,  without  so  much  as  hearing  a buzz,, 
should  be  furious;  1 can  even  forgive  their  spiteful 
speeches.  But  that  you,  who  can  marry  your  daughter 
when  you  please,  you,  who  are  rich  and  titled,  you 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


99 


vho  have  nothing  of  the  provincial  about  you,  whose 
laughter  is  clever  and  possesses  fine  qualities,  with 
3eauty  and  the  power  to  choose  — that  you,  so  distin- 
guished from  the  rest  by  your  Parisian  grace,  should 
lave  paid  the  least  heed  to  this  talk  does  really  sur- 

! prise  me.  Am  I bound  to  account  to  the  public  for 
:;he  marriage  stipulations  which  our  notaries  think 
kecessary  under  the  political  circumstances  of  my 
<3on-in-law’s  future  life?  Has  the  mania  for  public 
iiscussion  made  its  way  into  families?  Ought  I to 
convoke  in  writing  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the 
province  to  come  here  and  give  their  vote  on  the 
clauses  of  our  marriage  contract?  ” 

A torrent  of  epigram  flowed  over  Bordeaux. 
Madame  Evangelista  was  about  to  leave  the  city,  and 
could  safely  scan  her  friends  and  enemies,  caricature 
them  and  lash  them  as  she  pleased,  with  nothing  to 
fear  in  return.  Accordingly,  she  now  gave  vent  to 
her  secret  observations  and  her  latent  dislikes  as  she 
V sought  for  the  reason  why  this  or  that  person  denied 
Ithe  shining  of  the  sun  at  mid-day. 
i ‘‘But,  my  dear,’^  said  the  Marquise  de  Gyas,  this 
I stay  of  the  count  at  Lanstrac,  these  parties  given  to 
i young  men  under  such  circumstances  — ” 

“Ah!  my  dear,”  said  the  great  lady,  interrupting 
ithe  marquise,  “do  you  suppose  that  we  adopt  the 
pettiness  of  bourgeois  customs  ? Is  Count  Paul  held 
in  bonds  like  a man  who  might  seek  tc  get  away? 

: Think  you  we  ought  to  watch  him  with  squad  of 
ij  gendarmes  lest  some  provincial  conspiracy  should  get 
II  him  away  from  us  ? ” 

ij  “Be  assured,  my  dearest  friend,  that  it  gives  me 
the  greatest  pleasure  to  — ’’ 


100 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Here  her  words  were  interrupted  by  a footman 
who  entered  the  room  to  announce  Paul.  Like  many 
lovers,  Paul  thought  it  charming  to  ride  twelve  miles 
to  spend  an  hour  with  Natalie.  He  had  left  his 
friends  while  hunting,  and  came  in  booted  and 
spurred,  and  whip  in  hand. 

‘‘Dear  Paul,’’  said  Natalie,  “you  don’t  know  what 
an  answer  you  are  giving  to  madame.” 

When  Paul  heard  of  the  gossip  that  was  current  in 
Bordeaux,  he  laughed  instead  of  being  angry. 

“These  worthy  people  have  found  out,  perhaps,  that 
there  will  be  no  wedding  festivities,  according  to  pro- 
vincial usages,  no  marriage  at  mid-day  in  the  church, 
and  they  are  furious.  Well,  my  dear  mother,”  he 
added,  kissing  her  nand,  “let  us  pacify  them  with  a 
ball  on  the  day  when  we  sign  the  contract,  just  as  the 
government  flings  a fete  to  the  people  in  the  great 
square  of  the  Champs-Elysees,  and  we  will  give  our 
dear  friends  the  dolorous  pleasure  of  signing  a mar- 
riage-contract such  as  they  have  seldom  heard  of  in 
the  provinces.” 

This  little  incident  proved  of  great  importance. 
Madame  Evangelista  invited  all  Bordeaux  to  witness 
the  signature  of  the  contract,  and  showed  her  intention 
of  displaying  in  this  last  fete  a luxury  which  should 
refute  the  foolish  lies  of  the  community. 

The  preparations  for  this  event  required  over  a 
month,  and  it  was  called  the  fete  of  the  camellias. 
Immense  quantities  of  that  beautiful  flower  were 
massed  on  the  staircase,  and  in  the  antechamber  and 
supper-room.  During  this  month  the  formalities  for 
constituting  the  entail  were  concluded  in  Paris;  the 


101 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

^states  adjoining  Lanstrac  were  purchased,  the  banns 
«rere  published,  and  all  doubts  finally  dissipated. 
Friends  and  enemies  thought  only  of  preparing  their 

toilets  for  the  coming  fete. 

The  time  occupied  by  these  events  obscured  the 
difficulties  raised  by  the  first  discussion,  and  swept 
into  oblivion  the  words  and  arguments  of  that  stormy 
conference.  Neither  Paul  nor  his  mother-in-law  con- 
tinued to  think  of  them.  Were  they  not,  after  all,  as 
Madame  Evangelista  had  said,  the  affair  of  the  two 

notaries?  . 

But  — to  whom  has  it  never  happened,  when  life  is 
in  its  fullest  flow,  to  be  suddenly  challenged  by  the 
voice  of  memory,  raised,  perhaps,  too  late,  reminding 
us  of  some  important  fact,  some  threatened  danger? 
On  the  morning  of  the  day  when  the  contract  was  to 
be  signed  and  the  f§te  given,  one  of  these  flashes  of 
the  soul  illuminated  the  mind  of  Madame  Evangelista 
during  the  semi-somnolence  of  her  waking  hour.  The 
words  that  she  lierself  had  uttered  at  the  moment  when 
Mathias  acceded  to  Solonet’s  condition,  Qiiesta  coda 
non  e di  questo  gatto,  were  cried  aloud  in  her  mind 
by  that  voice  of  memory.  In  spite  of  her  incapacity 
for  business,  Madame  Evangelista’s  shrewdness  told 

“If  so  clever  a notary  as  Mathias  was  pacified,  it 
must  have  been  that  he  saw  compensation  at  the  cost 

of  some  oneJ^^ 

That  some  one  could  not  be  Paul,  as  she  had  blind  y 
hoped.  Could  it  be  that  her  daughter’s  fortune  was 
to  pay  the  costs  of  war?  She  resolved  to  demand 
explanations  on  the  tenor  of  the  contract,  not  reflect 


102 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

ing  on  the  course  she  would  have  to  take  in  case  she 
found  her  interests  seriously  compromised.  This  daj 
had  so  powerful  an  influence  on  Paul  de  Manerville’s 
conjugal  life  that  it  is  necessary  to  explain  certain  of 
the  external  circumstances  which  accompanied  it. 

Madame  Evangelista  had  shrunk  from  no  expense 
for  this  dazzling  fete.  The  court-yard  was  gravelled 
and  converted  into  a tent,  and  tilled  with  shrubs, 
although  it  was  winter.  The  camellias,  of  which  so 
much  had  been  said  from  Angouleme  to  Dax,  were 
banked  on  the  staircase  and  in  the  vestibules.  Wall 
partitions  had  disappeared  to  enlarge  the  supper-room 
and  the  ball-room  where  the  dancing  was  to  be.  Bor- 
deaux, a city  famous  for  the  luxury  of  colonial  for- 
tunes, was  on  a tiptoe  of  expectation  for  this  scene  of 
fairyland.  About  eight  o’clock,  as  the  last  discus- 
sion of  the  contract  was  taking  place  within  the  house, 
the  inquisitive  populace,  anxious  to  see  the  ladies  in 
full  dress  getting  out  of  their  carriages,  foi'med  in  two 
hedges  on  either  side  of  the  porte-cochere.  Thus  the 
sumptuous  atmosphere  of  a fgte  acted  upon  all  minds 
at  the  moment  when  the  contract  was  being  signed, 
illuminating  colored  lamps  lighted  up  the  shrubs,  and 
the  wheels  of  the  arriving  guests  echoed  from  the 
court-yard.  The  two  notaries  had  dined  with  the 
bridal  pair  and  their  mother.  Mathias’s  head-clerk, 
whose  business  it  was  to  receive  the  signatures  of  the 
guests  during  the  evening  (taking  due  care  that  the 
contract  was  not  surreptitiously  read  by  the  signers), 
was  also  present  at  the  dinner. 

No  bridal  toilet  was  ever  comparable  with  that  of 
Natalie,  whose  beauty,  decked  with  laces  and  satin, 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


108 


her  hair  coquettishly  falling  in  a myriad  of  curls  about 
her  throat,  resembled  that  of  a dower  encased  in  its 
foliage.  Madame  Evangelista,  robed  in  a gown  of 
cherry  velvet,  a color  judiciously  chosen  to  heighten 
the  brilliancy  of  her  skin  and  her  black  hair  and  eyes, 
glowed  with  the  beauty  of  a woman  at  forty,  and 
wore  her  pearl  necklace,  clasped  with  the  Discreto,  a 
'^isible  contradiction  to  the  late  calumnies. 

To  fully  explain  this  scene,  it  is  necessary  to  say 
that  Paul  and  Natalie  sat  together  on  a sofa  beside 
the  fireplace  and  paid  no  attention  to  the  reading  of 
the  documents.  Equally  childish  and  equally  happy, 
regarding  life  as  a cloudless  sky,  rich,  young,  and 
loving,  they  chattered  to  each  other  in  a low  voice, 
sinking  into  v/hispers.  Arming  his  love  with  the 
presence  of  legality,  Paul  took  delight  in  kissing  the 
tips  of  Natalie’s  fingers,  in  lightly  touching  her  snowy 
shoulders  and  the  waving  curls  of  her  hair,  hiding 
from  the  eyes  of  others  these  joys  of  illegal  emancipa- 
tion. Natalie  played  with  a screen  of  peacock’s  feathers 
given  to  her  by  Paul,  — a gift  which  is  to  love,  accord- 
ing to  superstitious  belief  in  certain  countries,  as 
dangerous  an  omen  as  the  gift  of  scissors  or  other 
cutting  instruments,  which  recall,  no  doubt,  the  Parces 
of  antiquity. 

Seated  beside  the  two  notaries,  Madame  Evange- 
lista gave  her  closest  attention  to  the  reading  of  the 
documents.  After  listening  to  the  guardianship  ac- 
count, most  ably  written  out  by  Solonet,  in  which 
Natalie’s  share  of  the  three  million  and  more  francs 
left  by  Monsieur  Evangelista  was  shown  to  be  the 
much-debated  eleven  hundred  and  fifty-six  tlrousand, 


/ 


104  The  Marriage  Contract. 

Madame  Evangelista  said  to  the  heedless  youn^ 
couple : — 

Come,  listen,  listen,  my  children;  this  is  youi 
marriage  contract.” 

The  clerk  drank  a glass  of  iced-water,  Solonet  and 
Mathias  blew  their  noses,  Paul  and  Natalie  looked  at 
the  four  personages  before  them,  listened  to  the  pre- 
amble, and  returned  to  their  chatter.  The  statement! 
of  the  property  brought  by  each  party;  the  general 
deed  of  gift  in  the  event  of. death  without  issue;  the 
deed  of  gift  of  one-fourth  in  life  interest  and  one- 
fourth  in  capital  without  interest,  allowed  by  the 
Code,  whatever  be  the  number  of  the  children;  the 
constitution  of  a common  fund  for  husband  and  wife; 
the  settlement  of  the  diamonds  on  the  wife,  the  library 
and  horses  on  the  husband,  were  duly  read  and  passed 
without  observations.  Then  followed  the  constitution 
of  the  entail.  When  all  was  read  and  nothing  re- 
mained but  to  sign  the  contract,  Madame  Evangelista 
demanded  to  know  what  would  be  the  ultimate  effect 
of  the  entail. 

An  entail,  madame,”  replied  Solonet,  means  an 
inalienable  right  to  the  inheritance  of  certain  property 
belonging  to  both  husband  and  wdfe,  which  is  settled 
from  generation  to  generation  on  the  eldest  son  of  the 
house,  without,  however,  depriving  him  of  his  right  to 
share  in  the  division  of  the  rest  of  the  property.” 

What  will  be  the  effect  of  this  on  my  daughter’s 
rights  ? ” 

Maitre  Mathias,  incapable  of  disguising  the  truth, 
replied : — 

Madame,  an  entail  being  an  appanage,  or  portion 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


105 


Df  property  set  aside  for  this  purpose  from  the  for- 
tunes of  husband  and  wife,  it  follows  that  if  the  wife 
dies  first,  leaving  several  children,  one  of  them  a son. 
Monsieur  de  Manerville  will  owe  those  children  three 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs  only,  from  which 
he  will  deduct  his  fourth  in  life-interest  and  his  fourth 
in  capital.  Thus  his  debt  to  those  children  will  be 
reduced  to  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs,  or 
thereabouts,  exclusive  of  his  savings  and  profits  from 
the  common  fund  constituted  for  husband  and  wife. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  he  dies  first,  leaving  a male  heir, 
Madame  de  Manerville  has  a right  to  three  hundred 
land  sixty  thousand  francs  only,  and  to  her  deeds  of 
igift  of  such  of  her  husband’s  property  as  is  not  in- 
j eluded  in  the  entail,  to  the  diamonds  now  settled  upon 
her,  and  to  her  profits  and  savings  from  the  common 
fund.” 

The  effect  of  Maitre  Mathias’s  astute  and  far-sighted 
policy  were  now  plainly  seen. 

‘‘My  daughter  is  ruined,”  said  Madame  Evangelista 

in  a low  voice. 

The  old  and  the  young  notary  both  overheard  the 
words. 

“Is  it  ruin,”  replied  Mathias,  speaking  gently,  “to 
constitute  for  her  family  an  indestructible  fortune? 

The  younger  notary,  seeing  the  expression  of  his 
client’s  face,  thought  it  judicious  in  him  to  state  the 
disaster  in  plain  terms. 

“We  tried  to  trick  them  out  of  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,”  he  whispered  to  the  angry  woman.  “They 
have  actually  laid  hold  of  eight  hundred  thousand,  it 
is  a loss  of  four  hundred  thousand  from  our  interests 


106 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


for  the  benefit  of  the  children.  You  must  now  eithei 
break  the  marriage  off  at  once,  or  carry  it  through,’* 
concluded  Solonet. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  moment  of  silence 
that  followed.  Maitre  Mathias  waited  in  triumph  the 
signature  of  the  two  persons  who  had  expected  to  rob 
his  client.  Natalie,  not  competent  to  understand  that 
she  had  lost  half  her  fortune,  and  Paul,  ignorant  that 
the  house  of  Manerville  had  gained  it,  were  laughing  ; 
and  chattering  still  Solonet  and  Madame  Evangelista 
gazed  at  each  other;  the  one  endeavoring  to  conceal  his 
indifference,  the  other  repressing  the  rush  of  a crowd 
of  bitter  feelings.  j 

After  suffering  in  her  own  mind  the  struggles  of 
remorse,  after  blaming  Paul  as  the  cause  of  her  dis- 
honesty, Madame  Evangelista  had  decided  to  employ 
those  shameful  manoeuvres  to  cast  on  him  the  burden 
of  her  own  unfaithful  guardianship,  considering  him 
her  victim.  But  now,  in  a moment,  she  perceived 
that  where  she  thought  she  triumphed  she  was  about 
to  perish,  and  her  victim  was  her  own  daughter. 
Guilty  without  profit,  she  saw  herself  the  dupe  of  an 
honorable  old  man,  whose  respect  she  had  doubtless 
lost.  Her  secret  conduct  must  have  inspired  the 
stipulation  of  old  Mathias;  and  Mathias  must  have 
enlightened  Paul.  Horrible  reflection!  Even  if  he 
had  not  yet  done  so,  as  soon  as  that  contract  was 
signed  the  old  wolf  would  surely  warn  his  client  of 
the  dangers  he  had  run  and  had  now  escaped,  were  it 
only  to  receive  the  praise  of  his  sagacity.  He  would 
put  him  on  his  guard  against  the  wily  woman  who  had 
lowered  herself  to  this  conspiracy;  he  would  destroy 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


107 


tiG  GinpirG  sliG  Lifid  con(][UGrGd  ovGr  her  soD*‘in*lftw! 
'ggOIg  Datui'GS,  oncG  wariiGd,  turn  obstinate,  and  aie 
GVGr  won  again.  At  the  first  discussion  of  the  con- 
ract  she  had  reckoned  on  Paul’s  weakness,  and  on  the 
mpossibility  he  wonld  feel  of  breaking  off  a marriage 
o far  advanced.  But  now,  she  herself  was  far  more 
ightly  bound.  Three  months  earlier  Paul  had  no  real 
.bstacles  to  prevent  the  rupture;  now,  all  Bordeaux 
mew  that  the  notaries  had  smoothed  the  difficulties ; 
he  banns  were  published ; the  wedding  was  to  take 
)lace  immediately ; the  friends  of  both  families  were 
it  that  moment  arriving  for  the  fhte,  and  to  witness 
he  contract.  How  conld  she  postpone  the  marriage  at 
his  late  hour?  The  cause  of  the  rupture  would  surely 
)e  made  known;  Maitre  Mathias’s  stern  honor  was  too 
veil  known  in  Bordeaux;  his  word  would  be  believed 
n preference  to  hers.  The  scoffers  would  turn  against 
ler  and  against  her  daughter.  No,  she  could  not 
3reak  it  off;  she  must  yield! 

These  reflections,  so  cruelly  sound,  fell  upon  Madame 
Evangelista’s  brain  like  a water-spout  and  split  it. 
Though  she  still  maintained  the  dignity  and  reserve 
)f  a diplomatist,  her  chin  was  shaken  by  that  apoplec- 
tic movement  which  showed  the  anger  of  Catherine 
the  Second  on  the  famous  day  when,  seated  on  her 
throne  and  in  presence  of  her  court  (very  much  in  the 
present  circumstances  of  Madame  l^vangelista),  she 
was  braved  by  the  King  of  Sweden.  Solonet  observed 
that  play  of  the  muscles,  which  revealed  the  birth 
of  a mortal  hatred,  a lurid  storm  to  which  there  was 
no  lightning.  At  this  moment  Madame  Evangelista 
vowed  to  her  son-in-law  one  of  those  unquenchable 


108 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


V‘' 

hatreds  the  seeds  of  which  were  left  by  the  Moors  ic 
the  atmosphere  of  Spain. 

“Monsieur,”  she  said,  bending  to  the  ear  of  hei 
• notary,  “you  called  that  stipulation  balderdash;  it 
seems  to  me  that  nothing  could  have  been  more 
clear.” 

“Madame,  allow  me  — ” 

“Monsieur,”  she  continued,  paying  no  heed  to  his 
interruption,  “if  you  did  not  perceive  the  effect  of  that 
entail  at  the  time  of  our  first  conference,  it  is  very  ex- 
traordinary that  it  did  not  occur  to  you  in  the  silence 
of  your  study.  This  can  hardly  be  incapacity.” 

The  young  notary  drew  his  client  into  the  next 
room,  saying  to  himself,  as  he  did  so:  — 

“I  get  a three-thousand-franc  fee  for  the  guardian- 
ship account,  three  thousand  for  the  contract,  six 
thousand  on  the  sale  of  the  house,  fifteen  thousand 
in  all  — better  not  be  angry.” 

He  closed  the  door,  cast  on  Madame  Evangelista 
the  cool  look  of  a business  man,  and  said : — 

“Madame,  having,  for  your  sake,  passed  — as  I 
did  — the  proper  limits  of  legal  craft,  do  you  seriously 
intend  to  reward  my  devotion  by  such  language  ? ” 

“But,  monsieur  — ” 

“Madame,  I did  not,  it  is  true,  calculate  the  effect 
of  the  deeds  of  gift.  But  if  you  do  not  wish  Comte 
Paul  for  your  son-in-law  you  are  not  obliged  to  accept 
him.  The  contract  is  not  signed.  Give  your  fete, 
and  postpone  the  signing.  It  is  far  better  to  brave 
Bordeaux  than  sacrifice  yourself.” 

“How  can  I justify  such  a course  to  society,  which 
is  already  prejudiced  against  us  by  the  slow  conclusion 
of  the  marriage?  ” 


109 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

<f0y  gQjQ0  error  coinrnittcd  in  Psirisj  sorno  missing 
document  not  sent  with  the  rest,”  replied  Solonet. 

“But  those  purchases  of  land  near  Lanstrac? 

“ Monsieur  de  Manerville  will  be  at  no  loss  to  find 
another  bride  and  another  dowry.” 

“.Yes,  he  ’ll  lose  nothing;  but  we  lose  all,  all!  ” 

“You?”  replied  Solonet;  “why,  you  can  easily  find 
another  count  who  will  cost  you  less  money,  if  a title 
is  the  chief  object  of  this  marriage.” 

“No,  no!  we  can’t  stake  our  honor  in  that  way.  I 
am  caught  in  a trap,  monsieur.  All  Bordeaux  will 
ring  with  this  to-morrow.  Our  solemn  words  are 
pledged  — ” 

“You  wish  the  happiness  of  Mademoiselle  Natalie.” 

“Above  all  things.” 

“To  be  happy  in  France,”  said  the  notary,  “means 
being  mistress  of  the  home.  She  can  lead  that  fool 
of  a Manerville  by  the  nose  if  she  chooses;  he  is  so 
dull  he  has  actually  seen  nothing  of  all  this.  Even  if 
he  now  distrusts  you,  he  will  always  trust  his  wife; 
and  his  wife  is  yow,  is  she  not?  The  count  s fate  is 
still  within  your  power  if  you  choose  to  play  the  cards 
in  your  hand.” 

“If  that  were  true,  monsieur,  I know  not  what  I 
would  not  do  to  show  my  gratitude,”  she  said,  in  a 
transport  of  feeling  that  colored  her  cheeks. 

“Let  us  now  return  to  the  others,  madame,”  said 
Solonet.  “Listen  carefully  to  what  I shall  say;  and 
then  — you  shall  think  me  incapable  if  you  choose.” 

“My  dear  friend,”  said  the  young  notary  to  Maitre 
Mathias,  “in  spite  of  your  great  ability,  you  have  not 
foreseen  either  the  case  of  Monsieur  de  Manerville 


110 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


without  childroU)  nor  thnt  in  which  he  leaves 
only  female  issue.  In  either  of  those  cases  the  entail 
would  pass  to  the  Manervilles,  or,  at  any  rate,  give 
rise  to  suits  on  their  part.  1 think,  therefore,  it  is 
necessary  to  stipulate  that  in  the  first  case  the  entailed 
property  shall  pass  under  the  general  deed  of  •gift 
between  husband  and  wife;  and  in  the  second  case 
that  the  entail  be  declared  void.  This  agreement 
concerns  the  wife’s  interest.” 

“Both  clauses  seem  to  me  perfectly  just,”  said 
Maitie  Mathias.  “As  to  their  ratification.  Monsieur 
le  Comte  can,  doubtless,  come  to  an  understanding 
with  the  chancellor,  if  necessary.” 

Solonet  took  a pen  and  added  this  momentous  clause 
on  the  margin  of  the  contract.  Paul  and  Natalie  paid 
no  attention  to  the  matter;  but  Madame  Evangelista 
dropped  her  eyes  while  Maitre  Mathias  read  the  added 
sentence  aloud. 

“We  will  now  sign,”  said  the  mother. 

The  volume  of  voice  which  Madame  Evangelista 
repressed  as  she  uttered  those  words  betrayed  her  vio- 
lent emotion.  She  was  thinking  to  herself;  “No,  my 
daughter  shall  not  be  ruined  — but  he!  My  daughter 
shall  have  the  name,  the  title,  and  the  fortune.  If 
she  should  some  day  discover  that  she  does  not  love 
him,  that  she  loves  another,  irresistibly,  Paul  shall  be 
driven  out  of  France!  My  daughter  shall  be  free,  and 
happy,  and  rich.” 

If  Maitre  Mathias  understood  how  to  analyze  busi- 
ness interests,  he  knew  little  of  the  analysis  of  human 
passions.  He  accepted  Madame  Evangelista’s  words 
as  an  honorable  amende,  instead  of  judging  them  for 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


Ill 


^vhat  they  were,  a declaration  of  war.  While  Solonet 
and  his  clerk  superintended  Natalie  as  she  signed  the 
iocuHients, — an  operation  which  took  time,  — Mathias 
took  Paul  aside  and  told  him  the  meaning  of  the 
stipulation  by  which  he  had  saved  him  from  ultimate 
ruin. 

“The  whole  affair  is  now  en  regie.  I hold  the  docu- 
ments. But  the  contract  contains  a receipt  for  the 
iiamonds;  you  must  ask  for  them.  Business  is  busi- 
ness. Diamonds  are  going  up  just  now,  but  may  go 
down.  The  purchase  of  those  new  domains  justifies 
you  in  turning  everything  into  money  that  you  can. 
Therefore,  Monsieur  le  comte,  have  no  false  modesty 
in  this  matter.  The  first  payment  is  due  after  the 
iformalities  are  over.  The  sum  is  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs;  put  the  diamonds  into  that.  You  have 
the  lien  on  this  house,  which  will  be  sold  at  once,  and 
[will  pay  the  rest.  If  you  have  the  courage  to  spend 
bnly  fifty  thousand  francs  for  the  next  three  years, 
you  can  save  the  two  hundred  thousand  francs  you  are 
Qow  obliged  to  pay.  If  you  plant  vineyards  on  your 
new  estates,  you  can  get  an  income  of  over  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs  upon  them.  You  may  be  said, 
in  short,  to  have  made  a good  marriage.” 

Paul  pressed  the  hand  of  his  old  friend  very  affec- 
tionately,  a gesture  which  did  not  escape  Madame 
Evangelista,  who  now  came  forward  to  offer  him  the 
pen.  Suspicion  became  certainty  to  her  mind.  She 
was  confident  that  Paul  and  Mathias  had  come  to  an 
understanding  about  her.  Rage  and  hatred  sent  the 
blood  surging  through  her  veins  to  her  heart.  The 
worst  had  come. 


i 


112 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


After  verifying  that  all  the  documents  were  dub 
signed  and  the  initials  of  the . parties  affixed  to  th( 
bottom  of  the  leaves,  Maitre  Mathias  looked  fron 
Paul  to  his  mother-in-law,  and  seeing  that  his  clien 
did  not  intend  to  speak  of  the  diamonds,  he  said:  — 

“ I do  not  suppose  there  can  be  any  doubt  about  th( 
transfer  of  the  diamonds,  as  you  are  now  one  family.’ 

“It  would  be  more  regular  if  Madame  Evangelists 
made  them  over  now,  as  Monsieur  de  Manerville  ha^ 
become  responsible  for  the  guardianship  funds,  and 
we  never  know  who  may  live  or  die,”  said  Solonet, 
who  thought  he  saw  in  this  circumstance  fresh  cause 
of  anger  in  the  mother-in-law  against  the  son-in-law. 

“Ah!  mother,”  cried  Paul,  “it  would  be  insulting 
to  us  all  to  do  that,  — Summum  jiis^  summa  injuria^ 
monsieur,”  he  said  to  Solonet. 

“And  I,”  said  Madame  Evangelista,  led  by  the 
hatred  now  surging  in  her  heart  to  see  a direct  insult 
to  her  in  the  iridirect  appeal  of  Maitre  Mathias,  “1 
will  tear  that  contract  up  if  you  do  not  take  them.” 

She  left  the  room  in  one  of  those  furious  passions 
which  long  for  the  power  to  destroy  everything, 
and  which  the  sense  of  impotence  drives  almost  to 
madness. 

“For  Heaven’s  sake,  take  them,  Paul,”  whispered 
Natalie  in  his  ear.  “My  mother  is  angry;  I shall 
know  why  to-night,  and  I will  tell  you.  We  must 
pacify  her.” 

Calmed  by  this  first  outburst,  madame  kept  the 
necklace  and  ear-rings  which  she  was  wearing,  and 
brought  the  other  jewels,  valued  at  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  by  Elie  Magus.  Accustomed  to 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


113 


sight  of  family  diamonds  in  all  valuations  of 
nheritance,  Maitre  Mathias  and  Solonet  examined 
[lese  jewels  in  their  cases  and  exclaimed  upon  their 
•eauty. 

“You  will  lose  nothing,  after  all,  upon  the  dot., 
lonsieur  le  comte,”  said  Solonet,  bringing  the  color 
o Paul’s  face. 

“Yes,”  said  Mathias,  “these  jewels  will  meet  the 
irst  payment  on  the  purchase  of  the  new  estate.” 

“And  the  costs  of  the  contract,”  added  Solonet. 

^ Hatred  feeds,  like  love,  on  little  things;  the  least 
hing  strengthens  it;  as  one  beloved  can  do  no  evil. 
Iso  the  person  hated  can  do  no  good.  Madame  Evan- 
i;elista  assigned  to  hypocrisy  the  natural  embarrass- 
nent  of  Paul,  who  was  unwilling  to  take  the  jewels, 
and  not  knowing  where  to  put  the  cases,  longed^  to 
ling  them  from  the  window.  Madame  Evangelista 
spurred  him  with  a glance  which  seemed  to  say, 
l‘Take  your  property  from  here.” 

“Dear  Natalie,”  said  Paul,  “put  away  these  jewels; 
they  are  yours;  I give  them  to  you.” 

Natalie  locked  them  into  the  drawer  of  a console. 
At  this  instant  the  noise  of  the  carriages  in  the  court- 
yard and  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  reception-rooms 
jbecame  so  loud  that  Natalie  and  her  mother  were 
forced  to  appear.  The  salons  were  filled  in  a few 
moments,  and  the  fSte  began. 

“Profit  by  the  honeymoon  to  sell  those  diamonds, 
said  the  old  notary  to  Paul  as  he  went  away. 

While  waiting  for  the  dancing  to  begin,  whispers 
went  round  about  the  marriage,  and  doubts  were 
-expressed  as  to  the  future  of  the  promised  couple. 

8 


114 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


“Is  it  finally  arranged ? ” said  one  of  the  leading 
personages  of  the  town  to  Madame  Evangelista. 

“We  had  so  many  documents  to  read  and  sign  that 
I fear  we  are  rather  late,”  she  replied;  “but  perhaps 
we  are  excusable.” 

“As  for  me,  I heard  nothing,”  said  Natalie,  giving 
her  hand  to  her  lover  to  open  the  ball. 

Both  of  those  young  persons  are  extravagant,  and 
the  mother  is  not  of  a kind  to  check  them,”  said  a 
dowager. 

“But  they  have  founded  an  entail,  I am  told,  worth 
fifty  thousand  francs  a year.” 

“Pooh!” 

“In  that  I see  the  hand  of  our  worthy  Monsieur 
Mathias,”  said  a magistrate.  “If  it  is  really  true,  he 
has  done  it  to  save  the  future  of  the  family.” 

“Natalie  is  too  handsome  not  to  be  horribly  coquet- 
tish. After  a couple  of  years  of  marriage,”  said  one 
young  woman,  “I  wouldn’t  answer  for  Monsieur  de 
Manerville’s  happiness  in  his  home.” 

“The  Pink  of  Fashion  will  then  need  staking,”  said 
Solonet,  laughing. 

“Don’t  you  think  Madame  Evangelista  looks 
annoyed  ? ” asked  another. 

“But,  my  dear,  I have  just  been  told  that  all  she  is 
able  to  keep  is  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a year,  and 
what  is  that  to  her?  ” 

“Penury!” 

“Yes,  she  has  robbed  herself  for  Natalie.  Monsieur 
de  Manerville  has  been  so  exacting  — ” 

“Extremely  exacting,”  put  in  Maitre  Solonet.  “But 
before  long  he  will  be  peer  of  France.  The  Maulin- 


115 


The  Marriage  Contract 

i;ours  and  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers  will  use  their  influ 
',nce.  He  belongs  to  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain.” 

“Oh!  he  is  received  there,  and  that  is  all,”  said  a 
ady,  who  had  tried  to  obtain  him  as  a son-in-law. 
‘Mademoiselle  Evangelista,  as  the  daughter  of  a mer- 
chant, will  certainly  not  open  the  doors  of  the  chapter- 
house of  Cologne  to  him ! 

“She  is  grand-niece  to  the  Duke  of  Casa-Reale. 
“Through  the  female  line!  ” 

The  topic  was  presently  exhausted.  The  card- 
players  went  to  the  tables,  the  young  people  danced, 
the  supper  was  served,  and  the  ball  was  not  over  till 
morning,  when  the  first  gleams  of  the  coming  day 
whitened  the  windows. 

Having  said  adieu  to  Paul,  who  was  the  last  to  go 
Lway,  Madame  Evangelista  went  to  her  daughter  s 
room;  for  her  own  had  been  taken  by  the  architect  to 
enlarge  the  scene  of  the  fete.  Though  Natalie  and 
her  mother  were  overcome  with  sleep,  they  said  a few 
words  to  each  other  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

“ Tell  me,  mother  dear,  what  was  the  matter  with  you  ? 
“My  darling,  1 learned  this  evening  to  what  lengths 
a mother’s  tenderness  can  go.  You  know  nothing  of 
business,  and  you  are  ignorant  of  the  suspicions  to 
which  my  integrity  has  been  exposed.  1 have  trampled 
my  pride  under  foot,  for  your  happiness  and  my 
reputation  were  at  stake.” 

“Are  you  talking  of  the  diamonds?  Poor  boy,  he 
wept;  he  did  not  want  them;  I have  them.” 

“Sleep  now,  my  child.  We  will  talk  business  when 
we  wake  — for,”  she  added,  sighing,  “you  and  I have 
business  now;  another  person  has  come  between  us.” 


116 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


‘'Ah!  my  dear  mother,  Paul  will  never  be  ar 
obstacle  to  our  happiness,  yours  and  mine,’’  murmured 
Natalie,  as  she  went  to  sleep. 

“Poor  darling!  she  little  knows  that  the  man  has 
ruined  her.” 

Madame  Evangelista’s  soul  was  seized  at  that 
moment  with  the  first  idea  of  avarice,  a vice  to  which 
many  become  a prey  as  they  grow  aged.  It  came 
into  her  mind  to  recover  in  her  daughter’s  interest  the 
whole  of  the  property  left  by  her  husband.  She  told 
herself  that  her  honor  demanded  it.  Her  devotion  to 
Natalie  made  her,  in  a moment,  as  shrewd  and  calcu- 
lating  as  she  had  hitherto  been  careless  and  wasteful. 
She  resolved  to  turn  her  capital  to  account,  after 
investing  a part  of  it  in  the  Funds,  which  were  then 
selling  at  eighty  francs.  A passion  often  changes  the 
whole  character  in  a moment;  an  indiscreet  person 
becomes  a diplomatist,  a coward  is  suddenly  brave. 
Hate  made  this  prodigal  woman  a miser.  Chance 
and  luck  might  serve  the  project  of  vengeance,  still 
undefined  and  confused,  which  she  would  now  mature 
in  her  mind.  She  fell  asleep,  muttering  to  herself, 
“To-^morrow!  ” By  an  unexplained  phenomenon,  the 
effects  of  which  are  familiar  to  all  thinkers,  her  mind, 
during  sleep,  marshalled  its  ideas,  enlightened  them, 
classed  them,  prepared  a means  by  which  she  was  to 
rule  Paul’s  life,  and  showed  her  a plan  which  she 
began  to  carry  out  on  that  very  to^niorrow. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


117 


V. 


THE  MARRIAGE  CONTRACT THIRD  DAT. 

Though  the  excitement  of  the  fete  had  driven  from 
haul’s  mind  the  anxious  thoughts  that  now  and  then 
issailed  it,  when  he  was  alone  with  himself  and  in  hia 

jed  they  returned  to  torment  him. 

“It  seems  to  me,”  he  said  to  himself,  “that  with- 
mt  that  good  Mathias  my  mother-in-law 
tricked  n.e.  And  yet,  is  that  believable?  Wha 
interest  could  lead  her  to  deceive  me?  le  we  no 
to  join  fortunes  and  live  together?  Well,  we  1,  why 
should  I worry  about  it?  In  two  days  Natalie  will 
be  my  wife,  our  money  relations  are  plainly  defined, 
nothing  can  come  between  us.  Vogue  la  gMere. 
Nevertheless,  I’ll  be  upon  my  guard.  Suppose 
Mathias  was  right?  Well,  if  he  was,  I ’m  not  obliged 

to  marry  my  mother-in-law/’ 

In  this  second  battle  of  the  contract  Paul  s future 
had  completely  changed  in  aspect,  though  he  was  not 
aware  of  it.  Of  the  two  persons  whom  he  was  marry- 
ing, one,  the  cleverest,  was  now  his  mortal  enemy,  and 
meditated  already  withdrawing  her  interests  from  the 
common  fund.  Incapable  of  observing  the  difference 
that  a creole  nature  placed  between  his  mother-in-law 
and  other  women,  Paul  was  far  from  suspecting  her 
craftiness.  The  creole  nature  is  apart  from  all  others ; 


118 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


7t  derives  from  Europe  by  its  intellect,  from  the 
tropics  by  the  illogical  violence  of  its  passions,  from 
the  East  by  the  apathetic  indifference  with  which  it 
does,  or  suffers,  either  good  or  evil,  equally,  — a grace- 
ful nature  withal,  but  dangerous,  as  a child  is  danger- 
ous if  not  watched.  Like  a child,  the  creole  woman 
must  have  her  way  immediately;  like  a child,  she 
would  burn  a house  to  boil  an  egg.  In  her  soft  and 
easy  life  she  takes  no  care  upon  her  mind;  but  when 
impassioned,  she  thinks  of  all  things.  She  has  some- 
thing of  the  perfidy  of  the  negroes  by  whom  she  has 
been  surrounded  from  her  cradle,  but  she  is  also  as 
naive  and  even,  at  times,  as  artless  as  they.  Like 
them  and  like  the  children,  she  wishes  doggedly  for 
one  thing  with  a growing  intensity  of  desire,  and  will 
brood  upon  that  idea  until  she  hatches  it.  A strange 
assemblage  of  virtues  and  defects!  which  her  Spanish 
nature  had  strengthened  in  Mac.ame  Evangelista,  and 
over  which  her  French  experience  had  cast  the  glaze 
of  its  politeness. 

This  character,  slumbering  in  married  happiness 
for  sixteen  years,  occupied  since  then  with  the  trivial- 
ities of  social  life,  this  nature  to  which  a first  hatred  ! 
had  revealed  its  strength,  awoke  now  like  a conflagra- 
tion; at  the  moment  of  the  woman’s  life  when  she  was 
losing  the  dearest  object  of  her  affections  and  needed 
another  element  for  the  energy  that  possessed  her,  this 
flame  burst  forth.  Natalie  could  be  but  three  days 
more  beneath  her  influence!  Madame  Evangelista, 
vanquished  at  other  points,  had  one  clear  day  before 
her,  the  last  of  those  that  a daughter  spends  beside 
her  mother.  A few  words,  and  the  creole  nature  could 


119 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

nfluence  the  lives  of  the  two  beings  about  to  walk 
;ocyether  through  the  brambled  paths  and  the  dusty 
ii°h-roads  of  Parisian  society,  for  Natalie  believed  m 
ler  mother  blindly.  What  far-reaching  power  would 
the  counsel  of  that  creole  nature  have  on  a mind  so 
subservient!  The  whole  future  of  these  lives  might  be 
determined  by  one  single  speech.  No  code,  no  human 
institution  can  prevent  the  crime  that  kills  by  woi  s. 
There  lies  the  weakness  of  social  law;  in  that  is  the 
difference  between  the  morals  of  the  great  world  and 
'the  morals  of  the  people:  one  is  frank,  the  other 
hypocritical;  one  employs  the  knife,  the  other  the 
venom  of  ideas  and  language;  to  one  death,  to  the 

other  impunity.  . 

The  next  morning,  about  mid-day,  Madame  van- 
. gelista  was  half  seated,  half  lying  on  the  edge  of 
I her  daughter’s  bed.  During  that  waking  hour  they 
i caressed  and  played  together  in  happy  memory  of 
\ their  loving  life;  a life  in  which  no  discord  had  ever 
i troubled  either  the  harmony  of  their  feelings,  the 
.j  agreement  of  their  ideas,  or  the  mutual  choice  and 
\ enioyment  of  their  pleasures. 

‘‘Poor  little  darling!”  said  the  mother,  shedding 
true  tears,  “how  can  I help  being  sorrowful  when  I 
I think  that  after  I have  fulfilled  your  every  wish  during 
your  whole  life  you  will  belong,  to-morrow  night,  to  a 

man  you  must  obey  ? ” . i .»  j 

“Oh,  my  dear  mother,  as  for  obeying!—  and 
Natalie  made  a little  motion  of  her  head  which  ex- 
pressed  a graceful  rebellion.  You  are  joking,  ^ s e 
continued.  “My  father  always  gratified  your  caprices ; 
and  why  not?  he  loved  you.  And  I am  loved,  too. 


120 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


“Yes,  Paul  has  a certain  love  for  you.  But  if  a ' 
married  woman  is  not  careful  nothing  more  rapidly 
evaporates  than  conjugal  love.  The  influence  a wife 
ought  to  have  over  her  husband  depends  entirely  on 
how  she  begins  with  him.  You  need  the  best  advice.” 

“But  you  will  be  with  us.” 

“Possibly,  dear  child.  Last  night,  while  the  ball 
was  going  on,  I reflected  on  the  dangers  of  our  being 
together.  If  my  presence  were  to  do  you  harm,  if  the  i 
little  acts  by  which  you  ought  slowly,  but  surely,  to  ! 
establish  your  authority  as  a wife  should  be  attributed 
to  my  influence,  your  home  would  become  a hell.  At  i 
the  first  frown  I saw  upon  your  husband’s  brow  I,  ; 
proud  as  I am,  should  instantly  leave  his  house.  If  ; 
I were  driven  to  leave  it,  better,  I think,  not  to  enter  ; 
it.  I should  never  forgive  your  husband  if  he  caused  \ 
trouble  between  us.  Whereas,  when  you  have  once 
become  the  mistress,  when  your  husband  is  to  you 
what  your  father  was  to  me,  that  danger  is  no  longer 
to  be  feared.  Though  this  wise  policy  will  cost  your 
young  and  tender  heart  a pang,  your  happiness  de- 
mands that  you  become  the  absolute  sovereign  of  your  i 
home.”  j 

“ Then  why,  mamma,  did  you  say  just  now  I must  ! 
obey  him.” 

My  dear  little  daughter,  in  order  that  a wife  may  j 
rule,  she  must  always  seem  to  do  what  her  husband  j 
wishes.  If  you  were  not  told  this  you  might  by  some 
impulsive  opposition  destroy  your  future.  Paul  is  a 
weak  young  man;  he  might  allow  a friend  to  rule 
him ; he  might  even  fall  under  the  dominion  of  some 
woman  who  would  make  you  feel  her  influence.  Pre- 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


121 


7ent  such  disasters  by  making  yourself  from  the  very 
start  his  ruler.  Is  it  not  better  that  he  be  governed 
oy  you  than  by  others  ? ” 

“ Yes,  certainly,”  said  Natalie.  “I  should  think 
only  of  his  happiness.” 

“And  it  is  my  privilege,  darling,  to  think  only  of 
yours,  and  to  wish  not  to  leave  you  at  so  crucial  a 
moment  without  a compass  in  the  midst  of  the  reefs 
through  which  you  must  steer.” 

“But,  dearest  mother,  are  we  not  strong  enough, 
you  and  I,  to  stay  together  beside  him,  without  hav- 
ing to  fear  those  frowns  you  seem  to  dread.  Paul 
j loves  you,  mamma.” 

; “Oh!  oh!  He  fears  me  far  more  than  he  loves  me. 
Observe  him  carefully  to-day  when  I tell  him  that  I 
shall  let  you  go  to  Paris  without  me,  and  you  will  see 
on  his  face,  no  matter  what  pains  he  takes  to  conceal 
it,  his  inward  joy.” 

“Why  should  he  feel  so?  ” 

I “Why?  Dear  child!  I am  like  Saint- Jean  Bouche- 
i d’Or.  I will  tell  that  to  himself,  and  before  you.” 
“But  suppose  I marry  on  condition  that  you  do  not 

leave  me?”  urged  Natalie. 

“Our  separation  is  necessary,”  replied  her  mother. 

I “Several  considerations  have  greatly  changed  my 
future.  I am  now  poor.  You  will  lead  a brilliant 
life  in  Paris,  and  I could  not  live  with  you  suitably 
I without  spending  the  little  that  remains  to  me. 

' Whereas,  if  I go  to  Lanstrac,  I can  take  care  of  your 
property  there  and  restore  my  fortune  by  economy.” 

“You,  mamma!  you  practise  economy!  cried 
Natalie,  laughing.  “Don’t  begin  to  be  a grand- 


122 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

mother  yet.  What!  do  you  mean  to  leave  me  foi 
such  reasons  as  those?  Dear  mother,  Paul  may  seen 
to  you  a trifle  stupid, , but  he  is  not  one  atom  'selfist 
or  grasping.” 

Ah!  replied  Madame  Evangelista,  in  a tone  of 
voice  big  with  suggestions  which  made  the  girl’s  heart 
thiob,  those  discussions  about  the  contract  have 
made  me  distrustful.  I have  my  doubts  about  him  — 
But  don’t  be  troubled,  dear  child,”  she  added,  taking 
her  daughter  by  the  neck  and  kissing  her.  “I  will 
not  leave  you  long  alone.  Whenever  my  return  can 
take  place  without  making  difficulty  between  you, 
whenever  Paul  can  rightly  judge  me,  we  will  begin 
once  more  our  happy  little  life,  our  evening  con- 
fidences — ” 

“Oh!  mother,  how  can  you  think  of  living  without 
your  Natalie?  ” 

“Because,  dear  angel,  I shall  live  for  her.  My 
mother’s  heart  will  be  satisfied  in  the  thought  that  I 
contribute,  as  I ought,  to  your  future  happiness.” 

“But  my  dear,  adorable  mother,  must  I be  alone 
with  Paul,  here,  now,  all  at  once?  What  will  become 
of  me?  what  will  happen?  what  must  I do?  what  must 
I not  do  ? 

“Poor  child!  do  you  think  that  I would  utterly 
abandon  you  to  your  first  battle?  We  will  write  to 
each  other  three  times  a week  like  lovers.  We  shall 
thus  be  close  to  each  other’s  heart  incessantly.  Noth- 
ing can  happen  to  you  that  I shall  not  know,  and  I 
can  save  you  from  all  misfortune.  Besides,  it  would 
be  too  ridiculous  if  I never  went  to  see  you ; it  wmuld 
seem  to  show  dislike  or  disrespect  to  your  husband; 


The  Marriage  Contract  123 

r will  always  spend  a month  or  two  every  year  with 
you  in  Paris.” 

Alone,  already  alone,  and  with  him!  ” cried  Natalie 
in  terror,  interrupting  her  mother. 

“But  you  wish  to  be  his  wife?  ” 

“Yes,  I wish  it.  But  tell  me  how  I should  behave, 
— you,  who  did  what  you  pleased  with  my  father.  You 
know  the  way;  I dl  obey  you  blindly.” 

Madame  Evangelista  kissed  her  daughter’s  fore- 
head. She  had  willed  and  awaited  this  request. 

“Child,  my  counsels  must  adapt  themselves  to  cir- 
cumstances. All  men  are  not  alike.  The  lion  and 
tne  frog  are  not  more  unlike  than  one  man  compared 
with  another,  — morally,  I mean.  Do  I know  to-day 
what  will  happen  to  you  to-morrow?  No;  therefore  I 
can  only  give  you  general  advice  upon  the  whole  tenor 
of  your  conduct.” 

“Dear  mother,  tell  me,  quick,  all  that  you  know 
yourself.” 

“In  the  first  place,  my  dear  child,  the  cause  of  the 
failure  of  married  women  who  desire  to  keep  their 
husbands’  hearts  — and  ” she  said,  making  a paren- 
thesis, “to  keep  their  hearts  and  rule  them  is  one  and 
the  same  thing — Well,  the  principle  cause  of  con- 
jugal disunion  is  to  be  found  in  perpetual  inter- 
. course,  which  never  existed  in  the  olden  time,  but 
which  has  been  introduced  into  this  country  of  late 
years  with  the  mania  for  family.  Since  the  Kevolu- 
tion  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  bourgeoisie  have 
invaded  the  homes  of  aristocracy.  This  misfortune 
is  due  to  one  of  their  writers,  Rousseau,  an  infamous 
heretic,  whose  ideas  w^ere  all  anti-social  and  who  pre^ 


124 


The  Marriage  Gontraoi. 

tended,  I don’t  know  how,  to  justify  the  most  senselesf 
things.  He  declared  that  all  women  had  the  sam< 
rights  and  the  same  faculties;  that  living  in  a stati 
of  society  we  ought,  nevertheless,  to  obey  nature -ai 
1 the  wife  of  a Spanish  grandee,  as  if  you  or  I had 
anything  in  common  with  the  women  of  the  people! 
Since  then,  well-bred  women  have  suckled  their  chil- 
dren, have  educated  their  daughters,  and  stayed  in 
their  own  homes.  Life  has  become  so  involved  that 
happiness  is  almost  impossible,  — for  a perfect  har- 
mony between  natures  such  as  that  which  has  made 
you  and  me  live  as  two  friends  is  an  exception.  Per- 
petual contact  IS  as  dangerous  for  parents  and  children 
as  It  is  for  husband  and  wife.  There  are  few  souls  in 
w ich  love  survives  this  fatal  omnipresence.  There- 
fore, I say,  erect  between  yourself  and  Paul  the  bar- 
rmrs  of  society;  go  to  balls  and  operas;  go  out  in 
t e morning,  dine  out  in  the  evenings,  pay  visits  con- 
stantly, and  grant  but  little  of  your  time  to  your 
usband.  By  this  means  you  will  always  keep  your 
value  to  him.  When  two  beings  bound  together  for 
1 e have  nothing  to  live  upon  but  sentiment,  its 
resources  are  soon  exhausted,  indifference,  satiety 
and  disgust  succeed.  When  sentiment  has  withered 
what  will  become  of  you?  Remember,  affection  once 
extinguished  can  lead  to  nothing  but  indifference  or 
contempt.  Be  ever  young  and  ever  new  to  him.  He 
may  weary  you,  that  often  happens,  — but  you  must 

never  weary  him.  The  faculty  of  being  bored  with- 
out showing  It  is  a condition  of  all  species  of  power. 
You  cannot  diversify  happiness  by  the  cares  of  prop- 
erty or  the  occupations  of  a family.  If  you  do  not 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


125 


aake  your  husband  share  your  social  interests,  if  you 
lo  not  keep  him  amused  you  will  fall  into  a dismal 
.pathy.  Then  begins  the  spleen  of  love.  But  a man 
vill  always  love  the  woman  who  amuses  him  and  keeps 
dm  happy.  To  give  happiness  and  to  receive  it  are 
,wo  lines  of  feminine  conduct  which  are  separated  by 

I gulf.”  , T J 

‘‘Dear  mother,  I am  listening  to  you,  but  I don 

inderstand  one  word  you  say.” 

“If  you  love  Paul  to  the  extent  of  doing  all  he  asks 
)f  you,  if  you  make  your  happiness  depend  on  him, 
ill  is  over  with  your  future  life;  you  will  never  be 
mistress  of  your  home,  and  the  best  precepts  in  the 

world  will  do  you  no  good. 

“That  is  plainer;  but  I see  the  rule  without  know- 
ling  how  to  apply  it,”  said  Natalie,  laughing.  I have 

(the  theory;  the  practice  will  come.” 

“My  poor  Ninie,”  replied  the  mother,  who  dropped 
an  honest  tear  at  the  thought  of  her  daughter’s  mai- 
riage,  things  will  happen  to  teach  it  to  you  And, 
she  continued,  after  a.  pause,  during  which  the  mother 
and  daughter  held  each  other  closely  embraced  in  the 
truest  sympathy,  “remember  this,  my  Natalie:  we  all 
have  our  destiny  as  women,  just  as  men  have  their 
vocation  as  men.  A woman  is  born  to  be  a woman 
of  the  world  and  a charming  hostess,  as  a man  is  born 
to  be  a general  or  a poet.  Your  vocation  is  to  please. 
Your  education  has  formed  you  for  society.  In  these 
days  women  should  be  educated  for  the  salon  as  they 
once  were  for  the  gynoecium.  You  were  not  born  to 
: be  the  mother  of  a family  or  the  steward  of  a house- 
i hold.  If  you  have  children,  I hope  they  will  not  come 

i 


126 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

to  spoil  your  figure  on  the  morrow  of  your  marriage 
nothing  is  so  bourgeois  as  to  have  a child  at  once.  I: 
you  have  them  two  or  three  years  after  your  marriage, 
well  and  good ; governesses  and  tutors  will  bring  then 
up.  You  are  to  be  the  lady,  the  great  lady,  who  rep- 
resents the  luxury  and  the  pleasure  of  the  house.  But 
remember  one  thing  — let  your  superiority  be  visible 
in  those  things  only  which  flatter  a man’s  self-love; 
hide  the  superiority  you  must  also  acquire  over  him 
in  great  things.  I 

“But  you  frighten  me,  mamma,”  cried  Natalie.! 
“How  can  I remember  all  these  precepts?  How  shall! 
1 ever  manage,  1,  such  a child,  and  so  heedless,  tol 
reflect  and  calculate  before  I act?”  j 

“But,  my  dear  little  girl,  I am  telling  you  to-day. 
that  which  you  must  surely  learn  later,  buying  your ! 
experience  by  fatal  faults  and  errors  of  conduct  which  i 
will  cause  you  bitter  regrets  and  embarrass  your  whole  ■ 
life.” 

“But  how  must  I begin?”  asked  Natalie,  artlessly. 

“Instinct  will  guide  you,”  replied  her  mother.  “At 
this  moment  Paul  desires  you  more  than  he  loves  you; 
for  love  born  of  desires  is  a hope;  the  love  that  sue-  i 
ceeds  their  satisfaction  is  the  reality.  There,  my 
dear,  is  the  question;  there  lies  your  power.  What 
woman  is  not  loved  before  marriage?  Be  so  on  the 
morrow  and  you  will  remain  so  always.  Paul  is  a 
weak  man  who  is  easily  trained  to  habit.  If  he  yields 
to  you  once  he  will  yield  always.  A woman  ardently 
desired  can  ask  all  things ; do  not  commit  the  folly  of 
many  women  who  do  not  see  the  importance  of  the 
first  hours  of  their  sway, — that  of  wasting  your  power 


127 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

on  trifles,  on  silly  things  with  no  result.  Use  the 
empire  your  husband’s  first  emotions  give  you  to  , 

accustom  him  to  obedience.  And  when  you  make  him 
yield,  choose  that  it  be  on  some  unreasonable  point, 
so  as  to  test  the  measure  of  your  power  by  the  measure 
of  his  concession.  What  victory  would  there  be  in 
making  him  agree  to  a reasonable  thing?  Would  that 
be  obeying  you?  We  must  always,  as  the  Castilian 
proverb  says,  take  the  bull  by  the  horns;  when  a bull 
has  once  seen  the  inutility  of  his  defence  and  ot  his 
strength  he  is  beaten.  When  your  husband  does  a 
foolish  thing  for  you,  you  can  govern  him.” 

“Why  so?”  . . 

“Because,  my  child,  marriage  lasts  a lifetime,  and 
a husband  is  not  a man  like  other  men.  Therefore, 
never  commit  the  folly  of  giving  yourself  into  his 
power  in  anything.  Keep  up  a constant  reserve  in 
your  speech  and  in  your  actions.  You  may  even  be 
cold  to  him  without  danger,  for  you  can  modify  co  d- 
ness  at  will.  Besides,  nothing  is  more  easy  to  maintain 
than  our  dignity.  The  words,  “It  is  not  becoming 
in  your  wife  to  do  thus  and  so,”  is  a great  talismam 
The  life  of  a woman  lies  in  the  words,  “I  will  not.” 

They  are  the  final  argument.  Feminine  power  is  in 
them,  and  therefore  they  should  only  be  used  on  real 
occasions.  But  they  constitute  a means  of  governing 
far  beyond  that  of  argument  or  discussion.  1,  my  dear 
child,  reigned  over  your  father  by  his  faith  in  me.  If 
your  husband  believes  in  you,  you  can  do  all  things  with 
him.  To  inspire  that  belief  you  must  make  him  think 
that  you  understand  him.  Do  not  suppose  that  that 
is  an  easy  thing  to  do.  A woman  can  always  make  a 


128 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

man  think  that  he  ia  loved,  but  to  make  him  admit 
that  he  is  understood  is  far  more  difficult.  I am 
bound  to  tell  you  all  now,  my  child,  for  to-morrow 
life  with  its  complications,  life  with  two  wills  which 
must  be  made  one,  begins  for  you.  Bear  in  mind,  at 
all  moments,  that  difficulty.  The  only  means  of  har- 
monizing your  two  wills  is  to  arrange  from  the  first 
that  there  shall  be  but  one;  and  that  will  must  be 
yours.  Many  persons  declare  that  a wife  creates  her 
own  unhappiness  by  changing  sides  in  this  way;  but, 
my  dear,  she  can  only  become  the  mistress  by  controlling 
events  instead  of  bearing  them;  and  that  advantage 
compensates  for  any  difficulty.” 

Natalie  kissed  her  mother’s  hands  with  tears  of 
p-atitude.  Like  all  women  in  whom  mental  emotion 
is  never  warmed  by  physical  emotion,  she  suddenly 
comprehended  the  bearings  of  this  feminine  policy; 
but,  like  a spoiled  child  that  never  admits  the  force 
of  reason  and  returns  obstinately  to  its  one  desire,  she 
came  back  to  the  charge  with  one  of  those  personal 

arguments  which  the  logic  of  a child  suggests: 

^ “Dear  mamma,”  she  said,  “it  is  only  a few  days 
since  you  were  talking  of  Paul’s  advancement,  and 
saying  that  you  alone  could  promote  it;  why,  then,  do 
you  suddenly  turn  round  and  abandon  us  to  our- 
selves  ? ’’ 

“I  did  not  then  know  the  extent  of  my  obligations 
nor  the  amount  of  my  debts,”  replied  the  mother,  who 
would  not  suffer  her  real  motive  to  be  seen.  “Besides, 
a year  or  two  hence  I can  take  up  that  matter  again.  i 

Come,  let  us  dress;  Paul  will  be  here  soon.  Be  as  • 

sweet  and  caressing  as  you  were,  — you  know?  — that 


129 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

light  when  we  first  discussed  this  fatal  contract;  for 
;o-day  we  must  save  the  last  fragments  of  our  for-  | 

;une,  and  I must  win  for  you  a thing  to  which  I am  f 

mperstitiously  attached.” 

“What  is  it?” 

“The  Cisereto." 

Paul  arrived  about  four  o’clock.  Though  he  en- 
deavored to  meet  his  mother-in-law  with  a gracious 
look  upon  his  face,  Madame  Evangelista  saw  traces 
of  the  clouds  which  the  counsels  of  the  night  and  the 
reflections  of  the  morning  had  brought  there. 

“Mathias  has  told  him!  ” she  thought,  resolving  to 
defeat  the  old  notary’s  action.  “My  dear  son,  she 
I said,  “you  left  your  diamonds  in  the  drawer  of  the 
I console,  and  I frankly  confess  that  I would  rather  not 
isee  again  the  things  that  threatened  to  bring  a cloud 
i between  us.  Besides,  as  Monsieur  Mathias  said,  they 
i ought  to  be  sold  at  once  to  meet  the  first  payment  on 
I the  estates  you  have  purchased.” 

“They  are  not  mine,”  he  said.  “I  have  given  them 
i to  Natalie,  and  when  you  see  them  upon  her  you  will 
forget  the  pain  they  caused  you.” 

i Madame  Evangelista  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it 
! cordially,  with  a tear  of  emotion. 

I “Listen  to  me,  my  dear  children,”  she  said,  looking 
from  Paul  to  Natalie;  “since  you  really  feel  thus,  1 
have  a proposition  to  make  to  both  of  you.  I find 
myself  obliged  to  sell  my  pearl  necklace  and  my  ear- 
rings. Yes,  Paul,  it  is  necessary;  I do  not  choose  to 
put  a penny  of  my  fortune  into  an  annuity;  1 know 
what  I owe  to  you.  Well,  I admit  a weakness;  to 
sell  the  Discrete  seems  to  me  a.  disaster.  To  sell  a 

9 


130 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


diamond  which  bears  the  name  of  Philip  the  Second 
and  once  adorned  his  royal  hand,  an  historic  stone 
which  the  Duke  of  Alba  touched  for  ten  years  in  the 
hilt  of  his  sword  — no,  no,  I cannot!  Elie  Magus 
estimates  my  necklace  and  ear-rings  at  a hundred  and 
some  odd  thousand  francs  without  the  clasps.  Will 
you  exchange  the  other  jewels  I made  over  to  you  for 
these?  you  will  gain  by  the  transaction,  but  what  of 
that?  I am  not  selfish.  Instead  of  those  mere  fancy 
jewels,  Paul,  your  wife  will  have  fine  diamonds  which 
she  can  really  enjoy.  Is  n’t  it  better  that  I should  sell 
those  ornaments  which  will  surely  go  out  of  fashion, 
and  that  you  should  keep  in  the  family  these  priceless 
stones?  ” 

‘‘But,  my  dear  mother,  consider  yourself,’’  said 
Paul. 

“I,”  replied  Madame  Evangelista,  “I  want  such 
things  no  longer.  Yes,  Paul,  I am  going  to  be  your 
bailiff  at  Lanstrac.  It  would  be  folly  in  me  to  go 
to  Paris  at  the  moment  when  I ought  to  be  here  to 
liquidate  my  property  and  settle  my  affairs.  I shall 
grow  miserly  for  my  grandchildren.” 

“Dear  mother,”  said  Paul,  much  moved,  “ought  I 
to  accept  this  exchange  without  paying  you  the 
difference  ? ” 

“Good  heavens!  are  you  not,  both  of  you,  my 
dearest  interests?  Do  you  suppose  I shall  not  find 
happiness  in  thinking,  as  I sit  in  my  chimney-corner, 
‘Natalie  is  dazzling  to-night  at  the  Duchesse  de 
Berry’s  ball’?  When  she  sees  my  diamond  at  her 
throat  and  my  ear-rings  in  her  ears  she  will  have  one 
of  those  little  enjoyments  of  vanity  which  contribute 


131 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

80  much  to  a woman’s  happiness  and  make  her  so  gay 
and  fascinating.  Nothing  saddens  a woman  more 
than  to  have  her  vanity  repressed ; I have  never  seen 
|an  ill-dressed  woman  who  was  amiable  or  good- 

ihumored.”  , 

“Heavens!  what  was  Mathias  thinking  about, 
thought  Paul.  “Well,  then,  mamma,”  he  said,  in  a 

low  voice,  ‘‘I  accept.’’ 

‘‘But  I am  confounded!  ” said  Natalie. 

At  this  moment  Solonet  arrived  to  announce  the 
good  news  that  he  had  found  among  the  speculators 
of  Bordeaux  two  contractors  who  were  much  attracted 
by  the  house,  the  gardens  of  which  could  be  covered 
with  dwellings. 

“They  offer  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
he  said;  “but  if  you  consent  to  the  sale,  I can  make 
them  give  you  three  hundred  thousand.  There  are 
three  acres  of  land  in  the  garden.” 

“My  husband  paid  two  hundred  thousand  for  the 
i place,  therefore  I consent,”  she  replmd.  ‘‘But  you 
i must  reserve  the  furniture  and  the  miiiois. 

“Ah!”  said  Solonet,  “you  are  beginning  to  under- 
stand business.” 

“Alas!  I must,”  she  said,  sighing. 

“I  am  told  that  a great  many  persons  are  coming 
to  your  midnight  service,”  said  Solonet,  pereeivnig 
that  his  presence  was  inopportune,  and  preparing 
to  go. 

Madame  Evangelista  accompanied  him  to  the  door 
I of  the  last  salon,  and  there  she  said,  in  a low  voice . 
i “I  now  have  personal  property  to  the  amount  of  two 
i hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs;  if  I can  get  two 


132 


The  Marriage  Contract, 

hundred  thousand  for  my  share  on  the  sale  of  the 
house  it  will  make  a handsome  capital,  which  I shall 
want  to  invest  to  the  very  best  advantage.  I count  on 
you  for  that.  I shall  probably  live  at  Lanstrac.” 

The  young  notary  kissed  his  client’s  hand  with  a 
gesture  of  gratitude;  for  the  widow’s  tone  of  voice 
made  Solonet  fancy  that  this  alliance,  really  made 
from  self-interest  only,  might  extend  a little  farther. 

“You  can  count  on  me,”  he  replied.  “I  can  find 
you  investments  in  merchandise  on  which  you  will 
risk  nothing  and  make  very  considerable  profits.” 

Adieu  until  to-morrow,”  she  said;  “you  are  to  be 
our  witness,  you  know,  with  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de 
Gyas.” 

My  dear  mother,  said  Paul,  when  she  returned  to 
them,  “why  do  you  refuse  to  come  to  Paris?  Natalie 
is  provoked  with  me,  as  if  I were  the  cause  of  your 
decision.” 

“I  have  thought  it  all  over,  my  children,  and  I am 
sure  that  I should  hamper  you.  You  would  feel 
obliged  to  make  me  a third  in  all  you  did,  and  young 
people  have  ideas  of  their  own  which  I might,  unin- 
tentionally, thwart.  Go  to  Paris.  I do  not  wish  to 
exercise  over  the  Comtesse  de  Manerville  the  gentle 
authority  I have  held  over  Natalie.  I desire  to  leave 
her  wholly  to  you.  Don’t  you  see,  Paul,  that  there 
are  habits  and  ways  between  us  which  must  be  broken 
up?  My  influence  ought  to  yield  to  yours.  I want 
you  to  love  me,  and  to  believe  that  J have  your 
interests  more  at  heart  than  you  think  for.  Young 
husbands  are,  sooner  or  later,  jealous  of  the  love  of  a 
wife  for  her  mother.  Perhaps  they  are  right.  When 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


133 


you  are  thoroughly  united,  when  love  has  blended  your 
two  souls  into  one,  then,  my  dear  son,  you  will  not 
fear  an  opposing  influence  if  1 live  in  your  house.  I 
know  the  world,  and  men,  and  things;  I have  seen  the 
peace  of  many  a home  destroyed  by  the  blind  love  of 
mothers  who  made  themselves  in  the  end  as  intolerable 
to  their  daughters  as  to  their  sons-in-law.  The  affec- 
tion of  old  people  is  often  exacting  and  querulous. 
Perhaps  I could  not  efface  myself  as  I should.  I have 
the  weakness  to  think  myself  still  handsome;  I have 
flatterers  who  declare  that  I am  still  agreeable ; 1 
should  have,  I fear,  certain  pretensions  which  might 
interfere  with  your  lives.  Let  me,  therefore,  make 
one  more  sacrifice  for  your  happiness.  I have  given 
you  my  fortune,  and  now  I desire  to  resign  to  you  my 
last  vanities  as  a woman.  Your  notary  Mathias  is 
getting  old.  He  cannot  look  after  your  estates  as  I 
will.  I will  be  your  bailiff;  I will  create  for  myself 
those  natural  occupations  which  are  the  pleasures  of 
old  age.  Later,  if  necessary,  I will  come  to  you  in 
Paris,  and  second  you  in  your  projects  of  ambition. 
Come,  Paul,  be  frank;  my  proposal  suits  you,  does 
it  not?  ” 

Paul  would  not  admit  it,  but  he  was  at  heart 
delighted  to  get  his  liberty.  The  suspicions  which 
Mathias  had  put  into  his  mind  respecting  his  mother- 
in-law  were,  however,  dissipated  by  this  conversation, 
which  Madame  Evangelista  carried  on  still  longer  in 
the  same  tone. 

^^JVIy  mother  was  right, thought  Natalie,  who  had 
watched  Paul’s  countenance.  “He  is  glad  to  know 
that  I am  separated  from  her  — why  ? ” 


134 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


That  “why?”  was  the  first  note  of  a rising  distrust; 
did  it  prove  the  power  of  those  maternal  instructions? 

There  are  certain  characters  whicn  on  the  faith  of  a 
single  proof  believe  in  friendship.  To  persons  thus 
constituted  the  north  wind  drives  away  the  clouds  as 
rapidly  as  the  south  wind  brings  them ; they  stop  at 
effects  and  never  hark  back  to  causes.  Paul  had  one 
of  those  essentially  confiding  natures,  without  ill- 
feelings,  but  also  without  foresight.  His  weakness 
proceeded  far  more  from  his  kindness,  his  belief  in 
goodness,  than  from  actual  debility  of  soul. 

Natalie  was  sad  and  thoughtful,  for  she  knew  not 
what  to  do  without  her  mother.  Paul,  with  that  self- 
confident  conceit  which  comes  of  love,  smiled  to  him- 
self at  hei  sadness,  thinking  how  soon  the  pleasures 
of  marriage  and  the  excitements  of  Paris  would  drive 
it  away.  Madame  Evangelista  saw  this  confidence 
with  much  satisfaction.  She  had  already  taken  two 
gieat  steps.  Her  daughter  possessed  the  diamonds 
which  had  cost  Paul  two  hundred  thousand  francs; 
and  she  had  gained  her  point  of  leaving  these  two 
children  to  themselves  with  no  other  guide  than  their 
illogical  love.  Her  revenge  was  thus  preparing,  un- 
known to  her  daughter,  who  would,  sooner  or  later, 
become  its  accomplice.  Did  Natalie  love  Paul?  That 
was  a question  still  undecided,  the  answer  to  which 
might  modify  her  projects,  for  she  loved  her  daughter 
too  sincerely  not  to  respect  her  happiness.  Paurs 
future,  therefore,  still  depended  on  himself.  If  he 
could  make  his  wife  love  him,  he  was  saved. 

The  next  day,  at  midnight,  after  an  evening  spent 
together,  with  the  addition  of  the  four  witnesses,  to 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


135 


irhom  Madame  Evangelista  gave  the  formal  dinner 
vhich  follows  the  legal  marriage,  the  bridal  pair, 
iccompanied  by  their  friends,  heard  mass  by  torch- 
ight,  in  presence  of  a crowd  of  inquisitive  persons. 

marriage  celebrated  at  night  always  suggests  to  the 
nind  an  unpleasant  omen.  Light  is  the  symbol  of 
ife  and  pleasure,  the  forecasts  of  which  are  lacking 
;o  a midnight  wedding.  Ask  the  intrepid  soul  why  it 
shivers ; why  the  chill  of  those  black  arches  ener- 
vates it;  why  the  sound  of  steps ' startles  it;  why  it 
notices  the  cry  of  bats  and  the  hoot  of  owls.  Though 
there  is  absolutely  no  reason  to  ti’emble,  all  piesent  do 
tremble,  and  the  darkness,  emblem  of  death,  saddens 
them.  Natalie,  parted  from  her  mother,  wept.  The 
girl  was  now  a prey  to  those  doubts  which  grasp  the 
heart  as  it  enters  a new  career  in  which,  despite  all 
assurances  of  happiness,  a thousand  pitfalls  await  the 
steps  of  a young  wife.  She  was  cold  and  wanted  a 
mantle.  The  air  and  manner  of  Madame  Evangelista 
and  that  of  the  bridal  pair  excited  some  comment 
among  the  elegant  crowd  which  surrounded  the  altar. 

“Solonet  tells  me  that  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
'leave  for  Paris  to-morrow  morning,  all  alone.” 

“Madame  Evangelista  was  to  live  with  them,  I 
thought.” 

“Count  Paul  has  got  rid  of  her  already.” 

“What  a mistake!”  said  the  Marquise  de  Gyas. 
“To  shut  the  door  on  the  mother  of  his  wife  is  to  open 
it  to  a lover.  Does  n’t  he  know  what  a mother  is? 

“He  has  been  very  hard  on  Madame  Evangelista; 
the  poor  woman  has  had  to  sell  her  house  and  her 
diamonds,  and  is  going  to  live  at  Lanstrac.” 


136 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

• “Natalie  looks  very  sad.*' 

“Would  you  like  to  be  made  to  take  a journey  the 
day  after  your  marriage?  ” 

“It  is  very  awkward.” 

“I  am  glad  I came  here  to-night,”  said  a lady.  “I 
am  now  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  the  pomps  of 
marriage  and  of  wedding  fgtes;  a scene  like  this  is 
very  bare  and  sad.  If  I may  say  what  I think,”  she 
added,  in  a whisper  to  her  neighbor,  “this  marriage 
seems  to  me  indec6nt.” 

Madame  Evangelista  took  Natalie  in  her  carriage 
and  accompanied  her,  alone,  to  Paul’s  house. 

“Well,  mother,  it  is  done!  ” 

Remember,  my  dear  child,  my  last  advice,  and 
you  will  be  a happy  woman.  Be  his  wife,  and  not  his 
mistress.” 

When  Natalie  had  retired,  the  mother  played  the 
little  comedy  of  flinging  herself  with  tears  into  the 
arms  of  her  son-in-law.  It  was  the  only  provincial 
thing  that  Madame  Evangelista  allowed  herself,  but 
she  had  her  reasons  for  it.  Amid  tears  and  speeches, 
apparently  half  wild  and  despairing,  she  obtained  of 
Paul  those  concessions  which  all  husbands  make. 

The  next  day  she  put  the  married  pair  into  their 
carriage,  and  accompanied  them  to  the  ferry,  by  which 
the  road  to  Paris  crosses  the  Gironde.  With  a look 
and  a word  Natalie  enabled  her  mother  to  see  that  if 
Paul  had  won  the  trick  in  the  game  of  the  contract, 
her  revenge  was  beginning.  Natalie  was  already 
redueing  her  husband  to  perfect  obedience. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


137 


VL 


CONCLUSION. 

Five  years  later,  on  an  afternoon  in  the  month  of 
'November,  Comte  Paul  de  Manerville,  wrapped  in  a 
ioak,  was  entering,  with  a bowed  head  and  a mys- 
erious  manner,  the  house  of  his  old  friend  Monsieur 
dathias  at  Bordeaux. 

Too  old  to  continue  in  business,  the  worthy  notary 
lad  sold  his  practice  and  was  ending  his  days  peace- 
‘ully  in  a quiet  house  to  which  he  had  retired.  An 
irgent  affair  had  obliged  him  to  be  absent  at  the 
noment  of  his  guest’s  arrival,  but  his  housekeeper, 
varned  of  Paul’s  coming,  took  him  to  the  room  of 
:he  late  Madame  Mathias,  who  had  been  dead  a year. 
Fatigued  by  a rapid  journey,  Paul  slept  till  evening. 
VV^hen  the  old  man  reached  home  he  went  up  to  his 
3lient’s  room,  and  watched  him  sleeping,  as  a mother 
watches  her  child.  Josette,  the  old  housekeepei,  fol« 
lowed  her  master  and  stood  before  the  bed,  her  hands 
on  her  hips. 

“It  is  a year  to-day,  Josette,  since  I received  my 
dear  wife’s  last  sigh;  I little  knew  then  that  I should 
stand  here  again  to  see  the  count  half  dead.” 

‘‘Poor  man!  he  moans  in  his  sleep,”  said  Josette. 

‘ “ Sac  a papier  / ” cried  the  old  notary,  an  innocent 

;oath  which  was  a sign  with  him  of  the  despair  on  a 


138 


The  Marriage  Oontract, 


man  of  business  before  insurmountable  difficultiet 
“At  any  rate,”  he  thought,  “I  have  saved  the  tit] 
to  the  Lanstrac  estate  for  him,  and  that  of  Ausa( 
Saint-Froult,  and  his  house,  though  the  usufruct  ha 
gone.”  Mathias  counted  on  his  fingers.  “Five  years 
Just  five  years  this  month,  since  his  old  aunt,  no’^ 
dead,  that  excellent  Madame  de  Maulincour,  asked  fo 
the  hand  of  that  little  crocodile  of  a woman,  who  ha 
finally  ruined  him  — as  I expected.” 

/ And  the  gouty  old  gentleman,  leaning  on  his  cane 
went  to  walk  in  the  little  garden  till  his  guest  shouk 
awake.  At  nine  o’clock  supper  was  served,  fo 
Mathias  took  supper.  The  old  man  was  not  a litth 
astonished,  when  Paul  joined  him,  to  see  that  his  ok 
client’s  brow  was  calm  and  his  face  serene,  thougi 
noticeably  changed.  If  at  the  age  of  thirty-three  thi 
Comte  de  Manerville  seemed  to  be  a man  of  forty,  tha'i 
change  in  his  appearance  was  due  solely  to  menta! 
shocks;  physically,  he  was  well.  He  clasped  the  old 
man’s  hand  affectionately,  and  fo]*ced  him  not  to  rise, 
saying : — 

“Dear,  kind  Maitre  Mathias,  you,  too,  have  had 
your  troubles.” 

“Mine  were  natural  troubles.  Monsieur  le  comte; 
but  yours  — ” 

“We  will  talk  of  that  presently,  while  we  sup.” 

“If  I had  not  a son  in  the  magistracy,  and  a daugh- 
ter married,”  said  the  good  old  man,  “you  would  have 
found  in  old  Mathias,  believe  me.  Monsieur  le  comte, 
something  better  than  mere  hospitality.  Why  have 
you  come  to  Bordeaux  at  the  very  moment  when  posters 
are  on  all  the  walls  of  the  seizure  of  your  farms  at 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


139 

^rassol  and  Gnadet,  the  vineyard  of  Belle-Rose  and 
he  family  mansion?  I cannot  tell  you  the  grief  I 
eel  at  the  sight  of  those  placards,  — I,  who  for  forty 
ears  nursed  that  property  as  if  it  belonged  to  me ; I, 
?ho  bought  it  for  your  mother  when  I was  only  third 
lerk  to  Monsieur  Chesnau,  my  predecessor,  and  wrote 
he  deeds  myself  in  my  best  round  hand;  I,  who  have 
hose  titles  now  in  my  successor’s  office;  I,  who  have 
mown  you  since  you  were  so  high;”  and  the  old  man 
dooped  to  put  his  hand  near  the  ground.  “Ah!  a 
nan  must  have  been  a notary  for  forty-one  years  and 
i half  to  know  the  sort  of  grief  I feel  to  see  my  name 
jxposed  before  the  face  of  Israel  in  those  announce- 
nents  of  the  seizure  and  sale  of  the  property.  When 
[ pass  through  the  streets  and  see  men  i-eading  those 
horrible  yellow  posters,  I am  ashamed,  as  if  my  own 
honor  and  ruin  were  concerned.  Some  fools  will 
stand  there  and  read  them  aloud  expressly  to  draw 
other  fools  about  them  — and  what  imbecile  remarks 
they  make!  As  if  a man  were  not  master  of  his  own 
property!  Your  father  ran  through  two  fortunes  be- 
fore he  made  the  one  he  left  you;  and  you  would  n’t 
be  a Manerville  if  you  did  n’t  do  likewise.  Besides, 
seizures  of  real  estate  have  a whole  section  of  the 
Code  to  themselves ; they  are  expected  and  provided 
for;  you  are  in  a position  recognized  by  the  law.  — 
If  I were  not  an  old  man  with  white  hair,  I would 
thrash  those  fools  I hear  reading  aloud  in  the  streets 
such  an  abomination  as  this,”  added  the  worthy 
notary,  taking  up  a paper:  “ ‘At  the  request  of  Dame 
Natalie  Evangelista,  wife  of  Paul-Fran^ois-Joseph, 
Comte  de  Manerville,  separated  from  him  as  to 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


/ 140 

worldly  goods  and  chattels  by  the  Lower  court  of  th 
department  of  the  Seine  — ’ ” 

“Yes,  and  now  separated  in  body,”  said  Paul. 

“Ah!  ” exclaimed  the  old  man. 

“Oh!  against  my  wife’s  will,”  added  the  count 
hastily.  “I  was  forced  to  deceive  her;  she  did  no 
know  that  I was  leaving  her.” 

“You  have  left  her?  ” 

“My  passage  is  taken;  I sail  for  Calcutta  on  th. 
‘Belle- Amelie.’  ” 

“Two  days  hence!”  cried  the  notary.  “Then 
Monsieur  le  comte,  we  shall  never  meet  again.” 

“You  are  only  seventy-three,  my  dear  Mathias,  anc 
you  have  the  gout,  the  brevet  of  old  age.  When  1 
return  I shall  find  you  still  afoot.  Your  good  head 
and  heart  will  be  as  sound  as  ever,  and  you  will  helf 
me  to  reconstruct  what  is  now  a shaken  edifice.  1 
intend  to  make  a noble  fortune  in  seven  years.  J 
shall  be  only  forty  on  my  return.  All  is  still  possible 
at  that  age.” 

“You?”  said  Mathias,  with  a gesture  of  amaze- 
ment, — you,  Monsieur  le  comte,  to  undertake  com- 
merce! How  can  you  even  think  of  it?” 

“I  am  no  longer  Monsieur  le  comte,  dear  Mathias. 
My  passage  is  taken  under  the  name  of  Camille,  one 
of  my  mother’s  baptismal  names.  I have  acquire- 
ments which  will  enable  me  to  make  my  fortune  other- 
wise than  in  business.  Commerce,  at  any  rate,  v/ill 
be  only  my  final  chance.  I start  with  a sum  in  hand 
sufficient  for  the  redemption  of  my  future  on  a Isrge 
scale.” 

“Where  is  that  money?  ” 


The  Marriage  ContraoL 


141 


friend  is  to  send  it  to  me.” 

The  old  man  dropped  his  fork  as  he  heard  the  word 
‘friend,”  not  in  surprise,  not  scoffingly,  but  in  grief; 
lis  look  and  manner  expressed  the  pain  he  felt  in 
inding  Paul  under  the  influence  of  a deceitful  illusion; 
lis  practised  eye  fathomed  a gulf  where  the  count  saw 
lothing  but  solid  ground. 

“I  have  been  fifty  years  in  the  notariat,”  he  said, 
‘and  I never  yet  knew  a ruined  man  whose  friends 
vould  lend  him  money.” 

“You  don’t  know  de  Marsay.  I am  certain  that  he 
las  sold  out  some  of  his  investments  already,  and  to- 
morrow you  will  receive  from  him  a bill  of  exchange 
m one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.” 

“I  hope  I may.  If  that  be  so,  cannot  your  friend 
settle  your  difiSculties  here?  You  could  live  quietly 
it  Lanstrac  for  five  or  six  years  on  your  wife’s  income, 
ind  so  recover  yourself.” 

‘‘No  assignment  or  economy  on  my  part  could  pay 
)ff  fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs  of  debt,  in  which 
ny  wife  is  involved  to  the  amount  of  five  hundred  and 
ifty  thousand.” 

“You  cannot  mean  to  say  that  in  four  years  you 
lave  incurred  a million  and  a half  of  debt?” 

“Nothing  is  more  certain,  Mathias.  Did  I not  give 
:hose  diamonds  to  my  wife?  Did  I not  spend  the 
lundred  and  fifty  thousand  I received  from  the  sale 
)f  Madame  Evangelista’s  house,  in  the  arrangement 
)f  my  house  in  Paris?  Was  I not  forced  to  use 
)ther  money  for  the  first  payments  on  that  property 
demanded  by  the  marriage  contract?  I was  even 
forced  to  sell  out  Natalie’s  forty  thousand  a year  in 


142 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


the  Funds  to  complete  the  purchase  of  Auzac  and  Saint 
Froult.  We  sold  at  eighty-seven,  therefore  I becam« 
in  debt  for  over  two  hundred  thousand  francs  within  i 
month  after  my  marriage.  That  left  us  only  sixty 
seven  thousand  francs  a year ; but  we  spent  fully  thre( 
times  as  much  every  year.  Add  all  that  up,  togethej 
with  rates  of  interest  to  usurers,  and  you  will  soor 
find  a million.” 

‘‘Br-r-r!”  exclaimed  the  old  notary.  “Go  on. 
What  next?” 

“Well,  I wanted,  in  the  first  place,  to  complete  for 
my  wife  that  set  of  jewels  of  which  she  had  the  pearl 
necklace  clasped  by  the  family  diamond,  the  Biscreto,, 
and  her  mother’s  ear-rings.  I paid  a hundred  thousand 
francs  for  a coronet  of  diamond  wheat-ears.  There ’s 
eleven  hundred  thousand.  And  now  I find  I owe  the 
fortune  of  my  wife,  which  amounts  to  three  hundred 
and  sixty-six  thousand  francs  of  her  dot,'^ 

“Bnt,”  said  Mathias,  “if  Madame  la  comtesse  had 
given  up  her  diamonds  and  you  had  pledged  your 
income  you  could  have  pacified  your  creditors  and 
have  paid  them  off  in  time.” 

“When  a man  is  down,  Mathias,  when  his  property 
is  covered  with  mortgages,  when  his  wife’s  claims 
take  precedence  of  his  creditors’,  and  w^hen  that  man 
has  notes  out  for  a hundred  thousand  francs  which  he 
must  pay  (and  I hope  I can  do  so  out  of  the  increased 
value  of  my  property  here),  what  you  propose  is  not 
possible.” 

“This  is  dreadful!”  cried  Mathias;  “would  you 
sell  Belle-Rose  with  the  vintage  of  1825  still  in  the 
cellars  ? ” 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


143 


‘‘I  cannot  help  myself.’’ 

“Belle-Rose  is  worth  six  hundred  thousand  francs.’* 

“Natalie  will  buy  it  in;  I have  advised  her  to 
o so.” 

“I  might  push  the  price  to  seven  hundred  thousand, 
nd  the  farms  are  worth  a hundred  thousand  each.” 

“Then  if  the  house  in  Bordeaux  can  be  sold  for  two 
undred  thousand  — ” 

“Solonet  will  give  more  than  that;  he  wants  it. 
le  is  retiring  with  a handsome  property  made  by 
ambling  on  the  Funds.  He  has  sold  his  practice  for 
hree  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  marries  a mulatto 
roman.  God  knows  how  she  got  her  money,  but  they 
ay  it  amounts  to  millions.  A notary  gambling  in 
tocks!  a notary  marrying  a black  woman!  What  an 
gel  It  is  said  that  he  speculates  for  your  mother- 
n-law  with  her  funds.” 

“She  has  greatly  improved  Lanstrac  and  taken  great 
)ains  with  its  cultivation.  She  has  amply  repaid  me 
or  the  use  of  it.” 

“I  should  n’t  have  thought  her  capable  of  that.” 

“She  is  so  kind  and  so  devoted;  she  has  always 
)aid  Natalie’s  debts  during  the  three  months  she  spent 
^ith  us  every  year  in  Paris.” 

“She  could  well  afford  to  do  so,  for  she  gets  her 
iving  out  of  Lanstrac,”  said  Mathias.  “She!  grown 
iconomical!  what  a miracle!  I am  told  she  has  just 
)ought  the  domain  of  Grainrouge  between  Lanstrac 
Liid  Grassol;  so  that  if  the  Lanstrac  avenue  were 
extended  to  the  high-road,  you  would  drive  four  and  a 
lalf  miles  through  your  own  property  to  reach  the 
louse.  She  paid  one  hundred  thousand  francs  down 
‘or  Grainrouge.” 


144 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


‘^She  is  as  handsome  as  ever,”  said  Paul;  ‘‘countr 
life  preserves  her  freshness;  I don’t  mean  to  go  h 
Lanstrac  and  bid  her  good-bye ; her  heart  would  bleec 
for  me  too  much.’’ 

‘‘You  would  go  in  vain;  she  is  now  in  Paris.  Sh< 
probably  arrived  there  as  you  left.” 

“No  doubt  she  had  heard  of  the  sale  of  my  property 
and  came  to  help  me.  I have  no  complaint  to  mak( 
of  life,  Mathias.  I am  truly  loved,  — as  much  as  an} 
man  ever  could  be  here  below ; beloved  by  two  womer 
who  outdo  each  other  in  devotion ; they  are  ever 
jealous  of  each  other;  the  daughter  blames  the  mother 
for  loving  me  too  much,  and  the  mother  reproaches  the 
daughter  for  what  she  calls  her  dissipations.  I may 
say  that  this  great  affection  has  been  my  ruin.  How 
could  I fail  to  satisfy  even  the  slightest  caprice  of  a 
loving  wife?  Impossible  to  restrain  myself  I Neither 
could  I accept  any  sacrifice  on  her  part.  We  might 
certainly,  as  you  say,  live  at  Lanstrac,  save  my  in- 
come, and  part  with  her  diamonds,  but  I would  rather 
go  to  India  and  work  for  a fortune  than  tear  my 
Natalie  from  the  life  she  enjoys.  So  it  was  I who 
proposed  the  separation  as  to  property.  Women  are 
angels  who  ought  not  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  sordid 
interests  of  life.” 

Old  Mathias  listened  in  doubt  and  amazement. 

“You  have  no  children,  I think,”  he  said. 

“Fortunately,  none,”  replied  Paul. 

“That  is  not  my  idea  of  marriage,”  remarked  the 
old  notary,  naively.  “A  wife  ought,  in  my  opinion, 
to  share  the  good  and  evil  fortunes  of  her  husband.  I 
have  heard  that  young  married  people  who  love  like 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


145 


)vers,  do  not  want  children?  Is  pleasure  the  only 
bject  of  marriage?  I say  that  object  should  be  the 
jys  of  family.  Moreover,  in  this  case  — I am  afraid 
on  will  think  me  too  much  of  notary  — your  marriage 
ontract  made  it  incumbent  upon  you  to  have  a son. 
res,  Monsieur  le  comte,  you  ought  to  have  had  at 
nee  a male  heir  to  consolidate  that  entail.  Why  not? 
Mademoiselle  Evangelista  was  strong  and  healthy; 
he  had  nothing  to  fear  in  maternity.  You  will  tell 
ne,  perhaps,  that  these  are  the  old-fashioned  notions 
if  our  ancestors.  But  in  those  noble  families,  Mon- 
ieur  le  comte,  the  legitimate  wife  thought  it  her 
luty  to  bear  children  and  bring  them  up  nobly;  as 
he  Duchesse  de  Sully,  the  wife  of  the  great  Sully, 
laid,  a wife  is  not  an  instrument  of  pleasure,  but  the 
lonor  and  virtue  of  her  household.” 

“You  don’t  know  women,  my  good  Mathias,”  said 
Paul.  “In  order  to  be  happy  we  must  love  them  as 
;hey  want  to  be  loved.  Is  n’t  there  something  brutal 
n at  once  depriving  a wife  of  her  charms,  and  spoil- 
,ng  her  beauty  before  she  has  begun  to  enjoy  it?” 

“If  you  had  had  children  your  wife  would  not  have 
lissipated  your  fortune;  she  would  have  stayed  at 
aome  and  looked  after  them.” 

“Jf  you  were  right,  dear  friend,”  said  Paul,  frown- 
ing, “I  should  be  still  more  unhappv  than  I am.  Do 
not  aggravate  my  sufferings  by  preaching  to  me  after 
my  fall.  Let  me  go,  without  the  pang  of  looking 
backward  to  mistakes.” 

The  next  day  Mathias  received  a bill  of  exchange 
for  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  from  de 
Marsay. 


10 


146 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


^‘You  see,”  said  Paul,  ‘‘he  does  not  write  a word  t« 
me.  He  begins  by  obliging  me.  Henri’s  nature  i 
the  most  imperfectly  perfect,  the  most  illegally  beauti 
ful  that  I know.  If  you  knew  with  what  superiority 
that  man,  still  young,  can  rise  above  sentiments 
above  self-interests,  and  judge  them,  you  would  b< 
astonished,  as  I am,  to  find  how  much  heart  he  has.” 

JMathias  tried  to  battle  with  Paul’s  determination, 
but  he  found  it  irrevocable,  and  it  was  justified  by  s( 
many  cogent  reasons  that  the  old  man  finally  ceasec 
his  endeavors  to  retain  his  client. 

It  is  seldom  that  vessels  sail  promptly  at  the  timt 
appointed,  but  on  this  occasion,  by  a fateful  circum-1 
stance  for  Paul,  the  wind  was  fair  and  the  “Belle- 
Amelie  ” sailed  on  the  morrow,  as  expected.  The 
quay  was  lined  with  relations,  and  friends,  and  idle 
persons.  Among  them  were  several  who  had  formerly 
known  Manerville.  His  disaster,  posted  on  the  walls 
of  the  town,  made  him  as  celebrated  as  he  was  in 
the  days  of  his  wealth  and  fashion.  Curiosity  was 
aroused;  every  one  had  their  word  to  say  about  him. 
Old  Mathias  accompanied  his  client  to  the  quay,  and 
his  sufferings  were  sore  as  he  caught  a few*  words  of 
those  remarks : — 

“Who  could  recognize  in  that  man  you  see  over 
there,  near  old  Mathias,  the  dandy  who  was  called 
the  Pink  of  Fashion  five  years  ago,  and  made,  as  they 
say,  ‘fair  weather  and  foul  ’ in  Bordeaux.” 

“What!  that  stout,  short  man  in  the  alpaca  over- 
coat, who  looks  like  a groom,  — is  that  Comte  Paul 
de  Manerville?  ” 

“Yes,  my  dear,  the  same  who  married  Mademoiselle 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


147 


^Ivangelista.  Here  be  is,  ruined,  without  a penny  to 
bis  name,  going  out  to  India  to  look  for  luck.’’ 

^^But  how  did  he  ruin  himself?  he  was  very  rich.” 

‘‘Oh!  Paris,  women,  play,  luxury,  gambling  at  the 
Bourse  — ” 

“Besides,”  said  another,  “Manerville  always  was  a 
poor  creature;  no  mind,  soft  as  papier-mache,  he’d 
let  anybody  shear  the  wool  from  his  back;  incapable 
of  anything,  no  matter  what.  He  was  born  to  be 
ruined. 

Paul  wrung  the  hand  of  the  old  man  and  went  on 
board.  Mathias  stood  upon  the  pier,  looking  at  his 
client,  who  leaned  against  the  shrouds,  defying  the 
crowd  before  him  with  a glance  of  contempt.  At  the 
moihent  when  the  sailors  began  to  weigh  anchor,  Paul 
noticed  that  Mathias  was  making  signals  to  him  with 
his  handkerchief.  The  old  housekeeper  had  hurried  to 
her  master,  who  seemed  to  be  excited  by  some  sudden 
event.  Paul  asked  the  captain  to  wait  a moment,  and 
send  a boat  to  the  pier,  which  was  done.  Too  feeble 
himself  to  go  aboard,  Mathias  gave  two  letters  to  a 
sailor  in  the  boat. 

“My  friend,”  he  said,  “this  packet”  (showing  one 
of  the  two  letters)  “is  important;  it  has  just  arrived 
by  a courier  from  Paris  in  thirty- five  hours.  State 
this  to  Monsieur  le  comte;  don’t  neglect  to  do  so; 
it  may  change  his  plans.” 

“Would  he  come  ashore?” 

“Possibly,  my  friend,”  said  the  notary,  impru- 
i dently. 

The  sailor  is,  in  all  lands,  a being  of  a race  apart, 
Holding  all  land-folk  in  contempt.  This  one  happened 


148 


The  Marriage  Contract 


to  be  a bas-Breton,  who  saw  but  one  thing  in  Maitre 
Mathiases  request. 

“Come  ashore,  indeed!”  he  thought,  as  he  rowed. 
“Make  the  captain  lose  a passenger!  If  one  listened 
to  those  walruses  we ’d  have  nothing  to  do  but 
embark  and  disembark  ’em.  He ’s  afraid  that  son 
of  his  will  catch  cold.” 

The  sailor  gave  Paul  the  letter  and  said  not  a word 
of  the  message.  Recognizing  the  handwriting  of  his 
wife  and  de  Marsay,  Paul  supposed  that  he  knew  what 
they  both  would  urge  upon  him.  Anxious  not  to  be 
influenced  by  offers  which  he  believed  their  devotion 
to  his  welfare  would  inspire,  he  put  the  letters  in  his 
pocket  unread,  with  apparent  indifference.  * 

Absorbed  in  the  sad  thoughts  which  assail  the 
strongest  man  under  such  circumstances,  Paul  gave 
way  to  his  grief  as  he  waved  his  hand  to  his  old 
friend,  and  bade  farewell  to  France,  watching  the 
steeples  of  Bordeaux  as  they  fled  out  of  sight.  He 
seated  himself  on  a coil  of  rope.  Night  overtook  him 
still  lost  in  thought.  With  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
dying  day  came  doubts;  he  cast  an  anxious  eye  into 
the  future.  Sounding  it,  and  finding  there  uncertainty 
and  danger,  he  asked  his  soul  if  courage  would  fail 
him.  A vague  dread  seized  his  mind  as  he  thought  of 
Natalie  left  wholly  to  herself;  he  repented  the  step  he 
had  taken ; he  regretted  Paris  and  his  life  there.  Sud- 
denly sea-sickness  overcame  him.  Every  one  knows 
the  effect  of  that  disorder.  The  most  horrible  of  its 
sufferings  devoid  of  danger  is  a complete  dissolution 
of  the  will.  An  inexplicable  distress  relaxes  to  their 
very  centre  the  cords  of  vitality ; the  soul  no  longer 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


149 


performs  its  functions ; the  sufferer  becomes  indifferent 
Lo  everything;  the  mother  forgets  her  child,  the  lover 
biis  mistress,  the  strongest  man  lies  prone,  like  an 
inert  mass.  Paul  was  carried  to  his  cabin,  where  he 
stayed  three  days,  lying  on  his  back,  gorged  with  grog 
by  the  sailors,  or  vomiting ; thinking  of  nothing,  and 
sleeping  much.  Then  he  revived  into  a species  of 
convalescence,  and  returned  by  degrees  to  his  ordi- 
nary condition.  The  first  morning  after  he  felt  better 
he  went  on  deck  and  paced  the  poop,  breathing  in 
the  salt  breezes  of  another  atmosphere.  Putting  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  he  felt  the  letters.  At  once  he 
opened  them,  beginning  with  that  of  his  wife. 

In  order  that  the  letter  of  the  Comtesse  de  Maner- 
ville  be  fully  understood,  it  is  necessary  to  give  the 
one  which  Paul  had  written  to  her  on  the  day  that  h^ 
left  Paris. 

From  Paul  de  Manerville  to  his  wife : 

My  beloved,  — When  you  read  this  letter  I shall 
be  far  away  from  you;  perhaps  already  on  the  vessel 
which  is  to  take  me  to  India,  where  I am  going  to 
repair  my  shattered  fortune. 

I have  not  found  courage  to  tell  you  of  my  depart- 
ure. I have  deceived  you;  but  it  was  best  to  do  so. 
You  would  only  have  been  uselessly  distressed;  you 
would  have  wished  to  sacrifice  your  fortune,  and  that 
I could  not  have  suffered.  Dear  Natalie,  feel  no 
remorse;  I have  no  regrets.  When  I return  with 
millions  I shall  imitate  your  father  and  lay  them  at 
your  feet,  as  he  laid  his  at  the  feet  of  your  mother, 
saying  to  you:  ‘^All  I have  is  yours.’* 


150 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


I love  you  madly,  Natalie;  I say  this  without  fear 
that  the  avowal  will  lead  you  to  strain  a power  which 
none  but  weak  men  fear;  yours  has  been  boundless 
from  the  day  I knew  you  first.  My  love  is  the  only 
accomplice  in  my  disaster.  I have  felt,  as  my  ruin 
progressed,  the  delirious  joys  of  a gambler;  as  the 
money  diminished,  so  my  enjoyment  grew.  Each  frag- 
ment of  my  fortune  turned  into  some  little  pleasure 
for  you  gave  me  untold  happiness.  I could  have 
wished  that  you  had  more  caprices  that  I might  gratify 
them  all.  I knew  I was  marching  to  a precipice,  but 
I went  on  crowned  with  joys  of  which  a common  heart 
knows  nothing.  I have  acted  like  those  lovers  who 
take  refuge  in  a cottage  on  the  shores  of  some  lake 
for  a year  or  two,  resolved  to  kill  themselves  at  last; 
dying  thus  in  all  the  glory  of  their  illusions  and  their 
iove.  I bave  always  thought  such  persons  infinitely 
sensible. 

You  have  known  nothing  of  my  pleasures  or  my 
sacrifices.  The  greatest  joy  of  all  was  to  hide  from 
the  one  beloved  the  cost  of  her  desires.  I can  reveal 
these  secrets  to  you  now,  for  when  you  hold  this 
paper,  heavy  with  love,  I shall  be  far  away.  Though 
1 lose  the  treasures  of  your  gratitude,  I do  not  suffer 
that  contraction  of  the  heart  which  would  disable  me  if 
I spoke  to  you  of  these  matters.  Besides,  my  own 
beloved,  is  there  not  a tender  calculation  in  thus  re- 
vealing to  you  the  history  of  the  past?  Does  it  not 
extend  our  love  into  the  future?  — But  we  need  no 
such  supports!  We  love  each  other  with  a love  to 
which  proof  is  needless,  — a love  which  takes  no  note 
of  time  or  distance,  but  lives  of  itself  alone. 


151 


The  Marriage  Qontfact. 

Ah!  Natalie,  I have  jiist  looked  at  you  asleep,  trust- 
ul,  restful  as  a little  child,  your  hand  stretched  toward 
ne.  I left  a tear  upon  the  pillow  which  has  known 
)ur  precious  joys.  I leave  you  without  fear,  on  the 
'aith  of  that  attitude;  I go  to  win  the  future  of  our 
ove  by  bringing  home  to  you  a fortune  large  enough 
,0  gratify  your  every  taste,  and  let  no  shadow  of 
inxiety  disturb  our  joys.  Neither  you  nor  I can  do 
vithout  enjoyments  in  the  life  we  live.  To  me  be- 
ongs  the  task  of  providing  the  necessary  fortune.  I 
im  a man;  and  I have  courage. 

Perhaps  you  might  seek  to  follow  me.  For  that 
reason  I conceal  from  you  the  name  of  the  vessel,  the 
port  from  which  I sail,  and  the  day  of  sailing.  After 
I am  gone,  when  too  late  to  follow  me,  a friend  will 
tell  you  all. 

Natalie!  my  affection  is  boundless.  I love  you  as 
a mother  loves  her  child,  as  a lover  loves  his  mistress, 
with  absolute  unselfishness.  To  me  the  toil,  to  you 
the  pleasures;  to  me  all  sufferings,  to  you  all  hap- 
piness. Amuse  yourself;  continue  your  habits  of 
iluxury ; go  to  theatres  and  operas,  enjoy  society  and 
I balls;  I leave  you  free  for  all  things.  Dear  angel, 
when  you  return  to  this  nest  where  for  five  years  we 
have  tasted  the  fruits  which  love  has  ripened  think  of 
your  friend;  think  for  a moment  of  me,  and  rest  upon 
my  heart. 

That  is  all  I ask  of  you.  For  myself,  dear  eternal 
thought  of  mine!  whether  under  burning  skies,  toil- 
ing for  both  of  us,  I face  obstacles  to  vanquish,  or 
whether,  weary  with  the  struggle,  I rest  my  mind  on 
hopes  of  a return,  I shall  think  of  you  alone;  of  you 


152 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

who  are  my  life,  — my  blessed  life!  Yes,  I shall  live 
in  you.  I shall  tell  myself  daily  that  you  have  m 
troubles,  no  cares;  that  you  are  happy.  As  in  oui 
natural  lives  of  day  and  night,  of  sleeping  and  wak- 
ing, I shall  have  sunny  days  in  Paris,  and  nights  ol 
toil  in  India,  — a painful  dream,  a joyful  reality;  and 
I shall  live  so  utterly  in  that  reality  that  rny  actual 
life  will  pass  as  a dream.  I shall  have  memories!  I 
shall  recall,  line  by  line,  strophe  by  strophe,  our 
glorious  five  years’  poem.  I shall  remember  the  days 
of  your  pleasure  in  some  new  dress  or  some  adornment 
which  made  you  to  my  eyes  a fresh  delight.  Yes, 
dear  angel,  I go  like  a man  vowed  to  some  great 
emprize,  the  guerdon  of  which,  if  success  attend  him, 
is  the  recovery  of  his  beautiful  mistress.  Oh!  my 
precious  love,  my  Natalie,  keep  me  as  a religion  in 
your  heart.  Be  the  child  that  I have  just  seen  asleep! 
If  you  betray  my  confidence,  my  blind  confidence,  you 
need  not  fear  my  anger  — be  sure  of  that;  I should 
die  silently.  But  a wife  does  not  deceive  the  man 
who  leaves  her  free  — for  woman  is  never  base.  She 
tricks  a tyrant;  but  an  easy  treachery,  which  would 
kill  its  victim,  she  will  not  commit  — No,  no ! I will 
not  think  of  it.  Forgive  this  cry,  this  single  cry,  so 
natural  to  the  heart  of  man ! 

Dear  love,  you  will  see  de  Marsay;  he  is  now  the 
lessee  of  our  house,  and  he  will  leave  you  in  posses- 
sion of  it.  This  nominal  lease  was  necessary  to  avoid 
a useless  loss.  Our  creditors,  ignorant  that  their  pay- 
ment  is  a question  of  time  only,  would  otherwise  have 
seized  the  furniture  and  the  temporary  possession  of 
the  house.  Be  kind  to  de  Marsay;  I have  the  most 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


153 


entire  confidence  in  his  capacity  and  his  loyalty. 
Take  him  as  your  defender  and  adviser,  make  him 
your  slave.  However  occupied,  he  will  always  find 
time  to  be  devoted  to  you.  I have  placed  the  liquida 
tion  of  my  affairs  and  the  payment  of  the  debts  m his 
hands.  If  he  should  advance  some  sum  of  which  he 
should  later  feel  in  need  I rely  on  you  to  pay  it  back. 
Remember,  however,  that  I do  not  leave  you  to  de 
Marsay,  but  to  yourself;  I do  not  seek  to  impose  him 
upon  you. 

Alas ! I have  but  an  hour  more  to  stay  beside  you ; 

1 1 cannot  spend  that  hour  in  writing  business—  I 
count  your  breaths;  I try  to  guess  your  thoughts  in 
the  slight  motions  of  your  sleep.  I would  I could 
infuse  my  blood  into  your  veins  that  you  might  be  a 
part  of  me,  my  thought  your  thought,  and  your  heart 

mine A murmur  has  just  escaped  your  lips  as 

though  it  were  a soft  reply.  Be  calm  and  beautiful 
forever  as  you  are  now!  Ah!  would  that  I possessed 
that  fabulous  fairy  power  which,  with  a wand,  could 
make  you  sleep  while  I am  absent,  until,  returning,  I 
should  wake  you  with  a kiss. 

How  much  I must  love  you,  how  much  energy  of 
soul  I must  possess,  to  leave  you  as  I see  you  now ! 
Adieu,  my  cherished  one.  Your  poor  Pink  of  Fashion 
is  blown  away  by  stormy  winds,  but  — the  wings  of 
his  good  luck  shall  waft  him  back  to  you.  No,  my 
Ninie,  I am  not  bidding  you  farewell,  for  1 shall  never 
leave  you.  Are  you  not  the  soul  of  my  actions?  Is 
not  the  hope  of  returning  wdth  happiness  indestructible 
for  you  the  end  and  aim  of  my  endeavor?  Does  it  not 
lead  my  every  step?  You  will  be  with  me  every- 


154 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

where.  Ah!  it  will  not  be  the  sun  of  India,  but  the 
file  of  your  eyes  that  lights  my  way.  Therefore  be 
happy  — as  happy  as  a woman  can  be  without  hei 
lover.  ^ I would  the  last  kiss  that  I take  from  those 
dear  lips  were  not  a passive  one;  but,  my  Ninie,  my 
adored  one,  I will  not  wake  you.  When  you  wake, 
you  will  find  a tear  upon  your  forehead  — make  it  a 
talisman!  Think,  think  of  him  who  may,  perhaps, 
die  for  you,  far  from  you ; think  less  of  the  husband} 
than  of  the  lover  who  confides  you  to  God. 

From,  the  Comtesse  de  Manerville  to  her  husband : 

Dear,  beloved  one,  — Your  letter  has  plunged  me 
into  affliction.  Had  you  the  right  to  take  this  course, 
which  must  affect  us  equally,  without  consulting  me? 
Are  you  free?  Do  you  not  belong  to  me?  If  you 
must  go,  why  should  I not  follow  you?  You  show 
me,  Paul,  that  I am  not  indispensable  to  you.  What 
-have  I done,  to  be  deprived  of  my  rights?  Surely  I 
count  for  something  in  this  ruin.  My  luxuries  have 
weighed  somewhat  in  the  scale.  You  make  me  curse 
the  happy,  careless  life  we  have  led  for  the  last  five 
years.  To  know  that  you  are  banished  from  France 
for  years  is  enough  to  kill  me.  How  soon  can  a 
f 01  tune  be  made  in  India?  ^Yill  you  ever  return? 

I was  right  when  I refused,  with  instinctive  obsti- 
nacy, that  separation  as  to  property  which  my  mother 
and  you  were  so  determined  to  carry  out.  What  did 
I tell  you  then  ? Did  I not  warn  you  that  it  was  cast- 
ing a reflection  upon  you,  and  would  ruin  your  credit? 

It  was  not  until  you  were  really  angry  that  I gave 
Way 


155 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

My  tlear  Paul,  never  have  you  been  so  noble  in  my 
eyes  as  you  are  at  this  moment.  To  despair  of  noth- 
ing, to  start  courageously  to  seek  a fortune!  Only  your 
character,  your  strength  of  mind  could  do  it.  I sit 
at  your  feet.  A man  who  avows  his  weakness  with 
your  good  faith,  who  rebuilds  his  fortune  from  the 
same  motive  that  made  him  wreck  it,  for  love’s  sake, 
for  the  sake  of  an  irresistible  passion,  oh,  Paul,  that 
man  is  sublime!  Therefore,  fear  nothing;  go  on, 
through  all  obstacles,  not  doubting  your  Natalie  — for 
that  would  be  doubting  yourself.  Poor  darling,  you 
mean  to  live  in  me?  And  I shall  ever  be  in  you.  I 
shall  not  be  here;  I shall  be  wherever  you  are,  where- 

ever  you  go.  , , ^ • 

Though  your  letter  has  caused  me  the  keenest  pain, 

it  has  also  filled  me  with  joy  - you  have  made  me 
know  those  two  extremes ! Seeing  how  you  love  me, 

I have  been  proud  to  learn  that  my  love  is  truly  felt. 
Sometimes  I have  thought  that  I loved  you  more  than 
you  loved  me.  Now,  L admit  myself  vanquished,  you 
have  added  the  delightful  superiority  — of  loving  — to 
all  the  others  with  which  you  are  blest.  That  precious 
letter  in  which  your  soul  reveals  itself  will  lie  upon 
my  heart  during  all  your  absence;  for  my  soul,  too, 
is  in  it;  that  letter  is  my  glory. 

I shall  go  to  live  at  Lanstrac  with  my  mother.  I 
die  to  the  world;  I will  economize  my  income  and 
pay  your  debts  to  their  last  farthing.  From  this  day 
forth,  Paul,  I am  another  woman.  I bid  farewell  for- 
ever to  society;  I will  have  no  pleasures  that  you 
cannot  share.  Besides,  Paul,  I ought  to  leave  Pans 
and  live  in  retirement.  Dear  friend,  you  will  soon 


156 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


have  a double  reason  to  make  youi’  fortune.  If  your 
courage  needed  a spur  you  would  find  it  in  this. 
Cannot  you  guess?  We  shall  have  a child.  Your 
cherished  desires  are  granted.  I feared  to  give  you 
one  of  those  false  hopes  which  hurt  so  much  — have 
we  not  had  grief  enough  already  on  that  score?  I was 
determined  not  to  be  mistaken  in  this  good  news. 
To-day  I feel  certain,  and  it  makes  me  happy  to  shed 
this  joy  upon  your  sorrows. 

This  morning,  fearing  nothing  and  thinking  you 
still  at  home,  I went  to  the  Assumption;  all  things 
smiled  upon  me;  how  could  I foresee  misfortune?  As 
I left  the  church  I met  my  mother;  she  had  heard  of 
your  distress,  and  came,  by  post,  with  all  her  savings, 
thirty  thousand  francs,  hoping  to  help  you.  Ah! 
what  a heart  is  hers,  Paul!  I felt  joyful,  and  hurried 
home  to  tell  you  this  good  news,  and  to  breakfast 
with  you  in  the  greenhouse,  where  I ordered  just  the 
dainties  that  you  like.  Well,  Augustine  brought  me 
your  letter,  — a letter  from  you,  when  we  had  slept 
together!  A cold  fear  seized  me;  it  was  like  a dream! 
I read  your  letter!  I read  it  weeping,  and  my  mother 
shared  my  tears.  I was  half-dead.  Such  love,  such 
courage,  such  happiness,  such  misery!  The  richest 
fortunes  of  the  heart,  and  the  momentary  ruin  of  all 
interests!  To  lose  you  at  a moment  when  my  admira- 
tion of  your  greatness  thrilled  me ! what  woman  could 
have  resisted  such  a tempest  of  emotion?  To  know 
you  far  away  when  your  hand  upon  my  heart  would 
have  stilled  its  throbbings;  to  feel  that  you  were  not 
here  to  give  me  that  look  so  precious  to  me,  to  re- 
joice in  our  new  hopes;  that  I was  not  with  you  to 


The  Marriage  Contract.  ISl 

soften  your  sorrows  by  those  caresses  which  made  your 
Natalie  so  dear  to  you!  I wished  to  start,  to  follow 
you,  to  fly  to  you.  But  my  mother  told  me  you  had 
taken  passage  in  a ship  which  leaves  Bordeaux  to- 
morrow, that  I could  not  reach  you  except  by  post, 
and,  moreover,  that  it  was  madness  in  my  present 
state  to  risk  our  future  by  attempting  to  follow  you. 

I could  not  bear  such  violent  emotions;  I was  taken 
ill,  and  am  writing  to  you  now  in  bed. 

My  mother  is  doing  all  she  can  to  stop  certain 
calumnies  which  seem  to  have  got  about  on  your  dis- 
aster. The  Vandenesses,  Charles  and  Felix,  have 
earnestly  defended  you;  but  your  friend  de  Marsay 
treats  the  affair  satirically.  He  laughs  at  your 
accusers  instead  of  replying  to  them.  I do  not  like 
his  way  of  lightly  brusliing  aside  such  serious  attacks. 
Are  you  not  deceived  in  him?  However,  I will  obey 
you ; I will  make  him  my  friend.  Do  not  be  anxious, 
my  adored  one,  on  the  points  that  concern  your  honor; 
is  it  not  mine  as  well?  My  diamonds  shall  be 
pledged ; we  intend,  mamma  and  I,  to  employ  our 
utmost  resources  in  the  payment  of  your  debts ; and 
we  shall  try  to  buy  back  your  vineyard  at  Belle-Rose. 
My  mother,  who  understands  business  like  a lawyer, 
blames  you  very  much  for  not  having  told  her  of  your 
embarrassments.  She  would  not  have  bought  think- 
ing to  please  you  — the  Grainrouge  domain,  and  then 
she  could  have  lent  you  that  money  as  well  as  the 
thirty  thousand  francs  she  brought  with  her.  She  is 
in  despair  at  your  decision ; she  feai’s  the  climate  of 
India  for  your  health.  She  entreats  you  to  be  sober, 
and  not  to  let  yourself  be  trapped  by  women  — That 


158  The  Marriage  Contract, 

made  me  laugh;  I am  as  sure  of  you  as  I am  of  j 
myself.  You  will  return  to  me  rich  and  faithful.  I j 
alone  know  your  feminine  delicacy,  and  the  secret 
sentiments  which  make  you  a human  flower  worthy  of 
the  gardens  of  heaven.  The  Bordeaux  people  were 
right  when  they  gave  you  your  floral  nickname. 

But  alas!  who  will  take  care  of  my  delicate  flower? 
My  heart  is  rent  with  dreadful  ideas.  I,  his  wife, 
Natalie,  I am  here,  and  perhaps  he  suffers  far  away  | 
from  me!  And  not  to  share  your  pains,  your  vexa- 
tions, your  dangers!  In  whom  will  you  confide?  how  ; 
will  you  live  without  that  ear  into  which  you  have  ; 
hitherto  poured  all?  Dear,  sensitive  plant,  swept 
away  by  this  storm,  will  you  be  able  to  survive  in 
another  soil  than  your  native  land? 

It  seems  to  me  that  I have  been  alone  for  centuries. 

I have  wept  sorely.  To  be  the  cause  of  your  ruin!  ; 
What  a text  for  the  thoughts  of  a loving  woman!  ] 
You  treated  me  like  a child  to  whom  we  give  all  it  i 
asks,  or  like  a courtesan,  allowed  by  some  thoughtless  ; 
youth  to  squander  his  fortune.  Ah!  such  indulgence 
was,  in  truth,  an  insult.  Did  you  think  I could  not 
live  without  fine  dresses,  balls  and  operas  and  social 
triumphs?  Am  I so  frivolous  a woman?  Do  you 
think  me  incapable  of  serious  thought,  of  ministering 
to  your  fortune  as  I have  to  your  pleasures  ? If  you 
were  not  so  far  away,  and  so  unhappy,  I would  blame 
you  for  that  impertinence.  Why  lower  your  wife  in 
that  way?  Good  heavens!  what  induced  me  to  go 
into  society  at  all  ? — to  flatter  your  vanity ; I adorned 
myself  for  you,  as  you  well  know.  If  I did  wrong, 

I am  punished,  cruelly;  your  absence  is  a harsh 
expiation  of  our  utual  life. 


159 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

Perhaps  my  happiness  was  too  complete;  it  had  to 
be  paid  by  some  great  trial  — and  here  it  is.  There 
is  nothing  now  for  me  but  solitude.  Yes,  I shall  live 
at  Lanstrac,  the  place  your  father  laid  out,  the  house 
you  yourself  refurnished  so  luxuriously.  There  I 
shall  live,  with  my  mother  and  my  child,  and  await 
you,  — sending  you  daily,  night  and  morning,  the 
prayers  of  all.  Remember  that  our  love  is  a talisman 
against  all  evil.  I have  no  more  doubt  of  you  than 
you  can  have  of  me.  What  comfort  can  I put  into 
this  letter,  — I so  desolate,  so  broken,  with  the 
lonely  years  before  me,  like  a desert  to  cross.  But 
no!  I am  not  utterly  unhappy;  the  desert  will  be 
brightened  by  our  son,  — yes,  it  must  be  a son^  must 
it  not? 

And  now,  adieu,  my  own  beloved;  our  love  and 
prayers  will  follow  you.  The  tears  you  see  upon  this 
paper  will  tell  you  much  that  I cannot  write.  I kiss 
you  on  this  little  square  of  paper,  see!  below.  Take 
those  kisses  from 

Your  Natalie. 


This  letter  threw  Paul  into  a revery  caused  as  much 
by  memories  of  the  past  as  by  these  fresh  assurances 
of  love.  The  happier  a man  is,  the  more  he  trembles. 

, In  souls  which  are  exclusively  tender  — and  exclusive 
I tenderness  carries  with  it  a certain  amount  of  weak- 
I ness  — jealousy  and  uneasiness  exist  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  the  amount  of  the  happiness  and  its  extent. 
: Strong  souls  are  neither  jealous  nor  fearful;  jealousy 


160 


The  Marriage  Contract, 


is  doubt,  fear  is  meanness.  Unlimited  belief  is  tho 
principal  attribute  of  a great  man.  If  he  is  deceived 
(for  strength  as  well  as  weakness  may  make  a man  a 
dupe)  his  contempt  will  serve  him  as  an  axe  with 
which  to  cut  through  all.  This  greatness,  however, 
is  the  exception.  Which  of  us  has  not  known  what 
it  is  to  be  abandoned  by  the  spirit  which  sustains  our 
frail  machine,  and  to  hearken  to  that  mysterious  Voice 
denying  all?  Paul,  his  mind  going  over  the  past,  and 
caught  here  and  there  by  irrefutable  facts,  believed 
and  doubted  all.  Lost  in  thought,  a prey  to  an  awful 
and  involuntary  incredulity,  which  was  combated  by 
the  instincts  of  his  own  pure  love  and  his  faith  in 
Natalie,  he  read  and  re-read  that  wordy  letter,  unable 
to  decide  the  question  which  it  raised  either  for  or 
against  his  wife.  Love  is  sometimes  as  great  and 
true  when  smothered  in  words  as  it  is  in  brief,  strong 
sentences. 

To  understand  the  situation  into  which  Paul  de 
Manerville  was  about  to  enter  we  must  think  of  him 
as  he  was  at  this  moment,  floating  upon  the  ocean  as 
he  floated  upon  his  past,  looking  back  upon  the  years 
of  his  life  as  he  looked  at  the  limitless  water  and 
cloudless  sky  about  him,  and  ending  his  revery  by 
returning,  through  tumults  of  doubt,  to  faith,  the 
pure,  unalloyed  and  perfect  faith  of  the  Christian 
and  the  lover,  which  enforced  the  voice  of  his  faithful 
heart. 

It  is  necessary  to  give  here  his  own  letter  to 
de  Marsay  written  on  leaving  Paris,  to  which  his 
friend  replied  in  the  letter  he  received  through  old 
Mathias  from  the  dock : — 


161 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

From  Comte  Paul  de  Manerville  to  Monsieur  le 

Marquis  Henri  de  Marsay  : 

Henki,  — I have  to  say  to  you  one  of  the  most  vital 
jwords  a man  can  say  to  his  friend ; — I am  ruined. 
jWhen  you  read  this  I shall  be  on  the  point  of  sail- 
iing  from  Bordeaux  for  Calcutta  on  the  brig  ‘ Belle- 
Amelie.” 

You  will  find  in  the  hands  of  your  notary  a deed 
which  only  needs  your  signature  to  be  legal.  In  it,  I 
lease  my  house  to  you  for  six  years  at  a nominal  rent. 
Send  a duplicate  of  that  deed  to  my  wife.  I am 
forced  to  take  this  precaution  that  Natalie  may  con- 
tinue to  live  in  her  own  home  without  fear  of  being 
driven  out  by  creditors. 

I also  convey  to  you  by  deed  the  income  of  my  share 
of  the  entailed  property  for  four  years;  the  whole 
amounting  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
which  sum  I beg  you  to  lend  me  and  to  send  in  a bill 
of  exchange  on  some  house  in  Bordeaux  to  my  notary, 
Maitre  Mathias.  My  wife  will  give  you  her  signature 
to  this  paper  as  an  endorsement  of  your  claim  to  my 
income.  If  the  revenues  of  the  entail  do  not  pay  this 
loan  as  quickly  as  I now  expect,  you  and  I will  settle 
on  my  return.  The  sum  I ask  for  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  enable  me  to  seek  my  fortune  in  India;  and  if 
I know  you,  I shall  receive  it  in  Bordeaux  the  night 
before  1 sail. 

1 have  acted  as  you  would  have  acted  in  my  place. 
I held  firm  to  the  last  moment,  letting  no  one  suspect 
my  ruin.  Before  the  news  of  the  seizure  of  my  prop- 
erty at  Bordeaux  reached  Paris,  I had  attempted,  with 
hundred  thousand  francs  which  I obtained  on 
11 


one 


162 


The  Marriaye  Contract, 

notes,  to  recover  myself  by  play.  Some  lucky  stroke  ! 
might  still  have  saved  me.  I lost.  I 

^ How  have  1 ruined  myself  ? By  my  own  will,  Henri,  j 
From  the  first  month  of  my  married  life  1 saw  that  I j 
could  not  keep  up  the  style  in  which  I started.  1 1 
knew  the  result;  but  I chose  to  shut  my  eyes;  I could  i 
not  say  to  my  wife,  “We  must  leave  Paris  and  live? 
at  Laiistrac.”  I have  ruined  myself  for  her  as  men  : 
rum  themselves  for  a mistress,  but  I knew  it  all  ' 
along.  Between  ourselves,  I am  neither  a fool  nor  a j 
weak  man.  A fool  does  not  let  himself  be  ruled  with  1 
his  eyes  open  by  a passion ; and  a man  who  starts  for  ’ 
India  to  reconstruct  his  fortune,  instead  of  blowing 
out  his  brains,  is  not  weak.  : 

I shall  return  rich,  or  I shall  never  return  at  all.  | 
Only,  my  dear  friend,  as  I want  wealth  solely  for  hei\  ' 
as  1 must  be  absent  six  years  at  least,  and  as  I will  i 
not  risk  being  duped  in  any  way,  I confide  to  you  my  , 
wife.  1 know  no  better  guardian.  Being  childless,  I 
a lover  might  be  dangerous  to  her.  Henri!  I love  her  ^ 
madly,  basely,  without  proper  pride.  I would  forgive 
her,  I think,  an  infidelity,  not  because  1 am  certain  of 
avenging  it,  but  because  1 would  kill  myself  to  leave 
her  free  and  happy  — since  I could  not  make  her 
happiness  myself.  But  what  have  I to  fear?  Natalie 
feels  for  me  that  friendship  which  is  independent  of 
love,  but  which  preserves  love.  I have  treated  her 
like  a petted  child.  I took  such  delight  in  my  sacri- 
fices, one  led  so  naturally  to  another,  that  she  can 
never  be  false ; she  would  be  a monster  if  she  were. 
Love  begets  love. 

Alas!  shall  I tell  you  all,  my  dear  Henri?  I have 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


163 


ust  written  her  a letter  in  which  1 let  her  think  that 
go  with  heart  of  hope  and  brow  serene;  that  neither 
ealousy,  nor  doubt,  nor  fear  is  in  my  soul,  — a letter, 
a short,  such  as  a son  might  write  to  his  mother, 
iware  that  he  was  going  to  his  death.  Good  God!  de 
Vlarsay,  as  I wrote  it  hell  was  in  my  soul!  I am  the 
nost  wretched  man  on  earth.  Yes,  yes,  to  you  the 
;ries,  to  you  the  grinding  of  my  teeth!  I avow  my- 
self to  you  a despairing  lover;  I would  rather  live 
:hese  six  years  sweeping  the  streets  beneath  her 
endows  than  return  a millionnaire  at  the  end  of 
them  — if  I could  choose.  I suffer  agony;  I shall 
pass  from  pain  to  pain  until  I hear  from  you  t^at 
you  will  take  tlie  trust  which  you  alone  can  fulh  or 

accomplish.  . . 

Oh'  my  dear  de  Marsay,  this  woman  is  indispen- 
sable to  my  life;  she  is  my  sun,  my  atmosphere. 
Take  her  under  your  shield  and  buckler,  keep  her 
faithful  to  me,  even  if  she  wills  it  not.  Yes,  I cou 
be  satisfied  with  a half-happiness.  Be  her  guardian, 
her  chaperon,  for  I could  have  no  distrust  of  you. 
Prove  to  her  that  in  betraying  me  she  would  do  a low 
and  vulgar  thing,  and  be  no  better  than  the  common 
run  of  women;  tell  her  that  faithfulness  wi  prove 

her  lofty  spirit.  . , 

She  probably  has  fortune  enough  to  continue  uer  lite 
of  luxury  and  ease.  But  if  she  lacks  a pleasure,  if 
she  has  caprices  which  she  cannot  satisfy,  be  her 
banker,  and  do  not  fear,  I will  return  with  wealth. 

But,  after  all,  these  fears  are  vain!  Natalie  is  an 
angel  of  purity  and  virtue.  When  Fehx  de  Vande- 
i nesse  fell  deeply  in  love  with  her  and  began  to  show 


164 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


her  certain  attentions,  I had  only  to  let  her  see  the 
danger,  and  she  instantly  thanked  me  so  affectionately! 
that  I was  moved  to  tears.  She  said  that  her  dignity 
and  reputation  demanded  that  she  should  not  close  her 
doors  abruptly  to  any  man,  but  that  she  knew  well] 
how  to  dismiss  him.  She  did,  in  fact,  receive  him  soi 
coldly  that  the  affair  all  ended  for  the  best.  We  have' 
never  had  any  other  subject  of  dispute  — if,  indeed,  a 
friendly  talk  could  be  called  a dispute  — in  all  our 
married  life. 

And  now,  my  dear  Henri,  I bid  you  farewell  in  the 
spirit  of  a man.  Misfortune  has  come.  No  matter 
what  the  cause,  it  is  here.  I strip  to  meet  it.  Pov- 
erty and  Natalie  are  two  irreconcilable  terms.  The 
balance  may  be  close  between  my  assets  and  my  lia- 
bilities, but  no  one  shall  have  cause  to  complain  of 
me.  But,  should  any  unforeseen  event  occur  to  im- 
peril my  honor,  I count  on  you. 

Send  letters  under  cover  to  the  Governor  of  India  at 
Calcutta.  I have  friendly  relations  with  his  family, 
and  some  one  there  will  care  for  all  letters  that  come 
to  me  from  Europe.  Dear  friend,  I hope  to  find  you 
the  same  de  Marsay  on  my  return,  — the  man  who 
scoffs  at  everything  and  yet  is  receptive  of  the  feelings 
of  others  when  they  accord  with  the  grandeur  he  is 
conscious  of  in  himself.  You  stay  in  Paris,  friend; 
but  when  you  read  these  words,  I shall  be  crying  out, 
'‘To  Carthage!  ” 


The  Marriage  Contract.  165 

The  Marquis  Henri  de  Marsay  to  Comte  Paul  de 
Manerville : 

So,  so,  Monsieur  le  comte,  you  have  made  a wreck  of 
tl  Monsieur  I’ambassadeur  has  gone  to  the  bottom! 
Ire  these  the  fine  things  that  you  were  doing? 

Why,  Paul,  why  have  you  kept  away  from  me?  If 
i,rou  had  said  a single  word,  my  poor  old  fellow,  I 
fvould  have  made  your  position  plain  to  you.  Your 
Wife  has  refused  me  her  endorsement.  May  that  one 
word  unseal  your  eyes ! But,  if  that  does  not  suffice, 
siearn  that  your  notes  have  been  protested  at  the  insti- 
igation  of  a Sieur  Lecuyer,  formerly  head-clerk  to 
Maitre  Solonet,  a notary  in  Bordeaux.  That  usurer 
in  embryo  (who  came  from  Gascony  for  jobbery)  is 
the  proxy  of  your  very  honorable  mother-in-law,  who 
is  the  actual  holder  of  your  notes  for  one  hundred 
ithousand  francs,  on  which  1 am  told  that  worthy 
woman  doled  out  to  you  only  seventy  thousand. 
Compared  with  Madame  Evangelista,  papa  Gobseck 
is  flannel,  velvet,  vanilla  cream,  a sleeping  draught. 
Your  vineyard  of  Belle-Rose  is  to  fall  into  the  clutches 
of  your  wife,  to  whom  her  mother  pays  the  difference 
between  the  price  it  goes  for  at  the  auction  sale  and 
the  amount  of  her  dower  claim  upon  it.  Madame 
Evangelista  will  also  have  the  farms  at  Guadet  and 
, Grassol,  and  the  mortgages  on  your  house  in  Bor- 
li  deaux  already  belong  to  her,  in  the  names  of  straw 
men  provided  by  Solonet. 

Thus  these  two  excellent  women  will  make  for 
! themselves  a united  income  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  francs  a year  out  of  your  misfortunes 
and  forced  sale  of  property,  added  to  the  revenue  of 


166 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

some  thirty-odd  thousand  on  the  Grand-livre  whic 
these  cats  already  possess. 

The  endorsement  of  your  wife  was  not  needed ; fo 
this  morning  the  said  Sieur  Lecuyer  came  to  offer  m 
a return  of  the  sum  I lent  you  in  exchange  for  a lega 
transfer  of  my  rights.  The  vintage  of  1825  whicl 
your  mother-in-law  keeps  in  the  cellars  at  Lanstrai 
will  suffice  to  pay  me.  j 

These  two  women  have  calculated,  evidently,  thaj 
you  are  now  upon  the  ocean;  but  I send  this  lettej| 
by  courier,  so  that  you  may  have  time  to  follow  the 
advice  I now  give  you. 

^ I made  Lecuyer  talk.  I disentangled  from  his  lies, 
his  language,  and  his  reticence,  the  threads  I lacked 
to  bring  to  light  the  whole  plot  of  the  domestic  con-^ 
spiracy  hatched  against  you.  This  evening,  at  the 
Spanish  embassy,  I shall  offer  my  admiring  compli- 
ments to  your  mother-in-law  and  your  wife.  I shall 
pay  court  to  Madame  Evangelista;  I intend  to  desert 
you  basely,  and  say  sly  things  to  your  discredit,  — 
nothing  openly,  or  that  Mascarille  in  petticoats  would 
detect  my  purpose.  How  did  you  make  her  such  an 
enemy  ? That  is  what  I want  to  know.  If  you  had 
had  the  wit  to  be  in  love  with  that  woman  before  you 
married  her  daughter,  you  would  to-day  be  peer  of 
France,  Hue  de  Mauerville,  and,  possibly,  ambassador 
to  Madrid. 

If  you  had  come  to  me  at  the  time  of  your  marriage, 

I would  have  helped  you  to  analyze  and  know  the 
women  to  whom  you  were  binding  yourself;  out  of 
our  mutual  observations  safety  might  have  been  yours. 
But,  instead  of  that,  these  women  judged  me,  became 


167 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

ifraid  of  me,  and  separated  us.  If  you  had  not 
stupidly  given  in  to  them  and  turned  me  the  cold  . 

shoulder,  they  would  never  have  been  able  to  ruin  I 

^ou.  Your  wife  brought  on  the  coldness  between  us,  ‘ 

instigated  by  her  mother,  to  whom  she  wrote  two 
setters  a week,  — a fact  to  which  you  paid  no  atten- 
tion. I recognized  my  Paul  when  I heard  that 
{detail. 

I Within  a month  I shall  be  so  intimate  with  your 
I mother-in-law  that  I shall  hear  from  her  the  reasons  of 
jthe  hispano-italiano  hatred  which  she  feels  for  you, 

— for  you,  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  men  on  earth! 

■Did  she  hate  you  before  her  daughter  fell  in  love  with 
iFelix  de  Vandenesse;  that’s  a question  in  my  mind. 

Ilf  I had  not  taken  a fancy  to  go  to  the  East  with 
jMontriveau,  Ronquerolles,  and  a few  other  good  fel- 
lows of  your  acquaintance,  I should  have  been  in  a 
position  to  tell  you  something  about  that  affair,  which 
was  beginning  just  as  I left  Paris.  I saw  the  first 
gleams  even  then  of  your  misfortune.  But  what 
gentleman  is  base  enough  to  open  such  a subject 
unless  appealed  to?  Who  shall  dare  to  injuie  a 
woman,  or  break  that  illusive  mirror  in  which  his 
friend  delights  in  gazing  at  the  fairy  scenes  of  a happy 
marriage?  Illusions  are  the  riches  of  the  heart. 

Your  wife,  dear  friend,  is,  I believe  I may  say,  in 
the  fullest  acceptation  of  the  word,  a fashionable 
woman.  She  thinks  of  nothing  but  her  social  suc- 
cess, her  dress,  her  pleasures;  she  goes  to  opera  and 
theatre  and  balls;  she  rises  late  and  drives  to  the 
Bois,  dines  out,  or  gives  a dinner-party.  Such  a life 
seems  to  me  for  women  very  much  what  war  is  for 


168 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


men;  the  public  sees  only  the  victors;  it  forgets  the 
dead.  Many  delicate  women  perish  in  this  conflict; 
those  who  come  out  of  it  have  iron  constitutions,  con- 
sequently no  heart,  but  good  stomachs.  There  lies 
the  reason  of  the  cold  insensibility  of  social  life. 
Fine  souls  keep  themselves  reserved,  weak  and  tender 
natures  succumb ; the  rest  are  cobblestones  which  hold 
the  social  ocean  in  its  place,  water-worn  and  rounded 
by  the  tide,  but  never  worn-out.  Your  wife  has 
maintained  that  life  with  ease;  she  looks  made  for  it; 
she  is  always  fresh  and  beautiful.  To  my  mind  the 
deduction  is  plain, — she  has  never  loved  you;  and 
you  have  loved  her  like  a madman. 

To  strike  out  love  from  that  silicious  nature  a man  of 
iron  was  needed.  After  standing,  but  without  endur- 
ing, the  shock  of  Lady  Dudley,  Felix  was  the  fitting 
mate  to  Natalie.  There  is  no  great  merit  in  divining 
that  to  you  she  was  indifferent.  In  love  with  her  your- 
self, you  have  been  incapable  of  perceiving  the  cold 
nature  of  a young  woman  whom  you  have  fashioned 
and  trained  for  a man  like  Vandenesse.  The  cold- 
ness of  your  wife,  if  you  perceived  it,  you  set  down, 
with  the  stupid  jurisprudence  of  married  people,  to 
the  honor  of  her  reserve  and  her  innocence.  Like  all 
husbands,  you  thought  you  could  keep  her  virtuous 
in  a society  where  women  whisper  from  ear  to  ear 
that  which  men  are  afraid  to  say. 

No,  your  wife  has  liked  the  social  benefits  she 
derived  from  marriage,  but  the  private  burdens  of  it 
she  found  rather  heavy.  Those  burdens,  that  tax  was 
— you!  Seeing  nothing  of  all  this,  you  have  gone  on 
digging  your  abysses  (to  use  the  hackneyed  words  of 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


169 


rhetoric)  and  covering  them  with  flowers.  You  have 
mildly  obeyed  the  law  which  rules  the  ruck  of  men ; 
from  which  I desired  to  pi’otect  you.  Dear  fellow! 
only  one  thing  was  wanting  to  make  you  as  dull  as  the 
bourgeois  deceived  by  his  wife,  who  is  all  astonish- 
ment or  wrath,  and  that  is  that  you  should  talk  to  me 
0f  your  sacrifices,  your  love  for  Natalie,  and  chant  that 
psalm:  “Ungrateful  would  she  be  if  she  betrayed  me; 
I have  done  this,  I have  done  that,  and  more  will  I 
do;  I will  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  the  Indies 
for  her  sake.  1 — I — ” etc.  My  dear  Paul,  have 
you  never  lived  in  Paris,  have  you  never  had  the 
honor  of  belonging  by  the  ties  of  friendship  to  Henri 
de  Marsay,  that  you  should  be  so  ignorant  of  the 
commonest  things,  the  primUive  principles  that  move 
the  feminine  mechanism,  the  a-b-c  of  their  hearts? 
Then  hear  me : — 

Suppose  you  exterminate  yourself,  suppose  you  go 
to  Saint-Pelagie  for  a woman’s  debts,  suppose  you 
; kill  a score  of  men,  desert  a dozen  women,  serve  like 
Laban,  cross  the  deserts,  skirt  the  galleys,  cover  your- 
self with  glory,  cover  yourself  with  shame,  refuse, 
like  Nelson,  to  fight  a battle  till  you  have  kissed  the 
shoulder  of  Lady  Hamilton,  dash  yourself,  like  Bona- 
parte, upon  the  bridge  at  Areola,  go  mad  like  Roland, 
risk  your  life  to  dance  five  minutes  with  a woman 
my  dear  fellow,  what  have  all  those  things  to  do  with 
^ love?  If  love  were  won  by  samples  such  as  those 
mankind  would  be  too  happy.  A spurt  of  prowess  at 
I the  moment  of  desire  would  give  a man  the  woman 
I that  he  wanted.  But  love,  love.,  my  good  Paul,  is  a 
faith  like  that  in  the  Immaculate  conception  of  the 


170 


The  Marriage  Contract. 

Holy  Virgin;  it  comes,  or  it  does  not  come.  Wil 
the  mines  of  Potosi,  or  the  shedding  of  our  blood,  oi 
the  making  of  our  fame  serve  to  waken  an  involuntary, 
an  inexplicable  sentiment?  Young  men  like  you,  who 
expect  to  be  loved  as  the  balance  of  your  account,  are 
nothing  else  than  usurers.  Our  legitimate  wives  owe 
us  virtue  and  children,  but  they  don’t  owe  us  love. 

Lo\e,  my  dear  Paul,  is  the  sense  of  pleasure  given 
and  received,  and  the  certainty  of  giving  and  receiv- 
ing  it;  love  is  a desire  incessantly  moving  and  grow- 
ing, incessantly  satisfied  and  insatiable.  The  day 
when  Vandenesse  stirred  the  cord  of  a desire  in  your 
wife’s  heart  which  you  had  left  untouched,  all 
your  self-satisfied  affection,  your  gifts,  your  deeds, 
your  money,  ceased  to  be  even  memories;  one  emo- 
tion of  love  in  your  wife’s  heart  has  cast  out  the 
treasures  of  your  own  passion,  which  are  now  nothing 
better  than  old  iron.  Felix  has  the  virtues  and  the 
beauties  in  her  eyes,  and  the  simple  moral  is  that 
blinded  by  your  own  love  you  never  made  her  love  you. 

Your  mother-in-law  is  on  the  side  of  the  lover 
against  the  husband,  — secretly  or  not;  she  may  have 
closed  her  eyes,  or  she  may  have  opened  them ; I know 
not  what  she  has  done  — but  one  thing  is  certain,  she 
is  for  her  daughter,  and  against  you.  During  the 
fifteen  years  that  I have  observed  society,  I have 
nevei  yet  seen  a mother  who,  under  such  circum- 
stances, abandons  her  daughter.  This  indulgence 
seems  to  be  an  inheritance  transmitted  in  the  female 
line.  What  man  can  blame  it?  Some  copyist  of  the 
Civil  code,  perhaps,  who  sees  formulas  only  in  the  place 
of  feelings. 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


171 


As  for  your  present  position,  the  dissipation  into 
which  the  life  of  a fashionable  woman  cast  you,  and 
your  own  easy  nature,  possibly  your  vanity,  have 
opened  the  way  for  your  wife  and  her  mother  to  get 
rid  of  you  by  this  ruin  so  skilfully  contrived.  From  all 
of  which  you  will  conclude,  my  good  friend,  that  the 
mission  you  intrusted  to  me,  and  which  I would  all 
the  more  faithfully  fulfil  because  it  amused  me,  is, 
necessarily,  null  and  void.  The  evil  you  wish  me  to 
prevent  is  accomplished,  — consummatum,  est. 

Forgive  me,  dear  friend,  if  I write  to  you,  as  you 
say,  a la  de  Marsay  on  subjects  which  must  seem  to 
you  very  serious.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  dance  upon 
the  grave  of  a friend,  like  heirs  upon  that  of  a pro- 
genitor. But  you  have  written  to  me  that  you  mean 
to  act  the  part  of  a man,  and  I believe  you ; I there- 
fore treat  you  as  a man  of  the  world,  and  not  as  a 
lover.  For  you,  this  blow  ought  to  be  like  the  braud 
on  the  shoulder  of  a galley-slave,  which  flings  him 
forever  into  a life  of  systematic  opposition  to  society. 
You  are  now  freed  cf  one  evil:  marriage  possessed 
you;  it  now  behooves  you  to  turn  round  and  possess 
marriage. 

Paul,  I am  your  friend  in  the  fullest  acceptation  ^of 
the  word.  If  you  had  a brain  in  an  iron  skull,  if  you 
had  the  energy  which  has  come  tp  you  too  late,  I 
would  have  proved  my  friendship  by  telling  you  things 
that  would  have  made  you  walk  upon  hnmanity  as 
i upon  a carpet.  But  when  1 did  talk  to  you  guardedly 
of  Parisian  civilization,  when  I told  you  in  the  dis- 
guise of  fiction  some  of  the  actual  adventures  of  my 
youth,  you  regai’ded  them  as  mere  romance  and  would 


172 


The  Marriage  Contract, 

not  see  their  bearing.  When  I told  you  that  histon 
of  a lawyer  at  the  galleys  branded  for  forgery,  wh( 
committed  the  crime  to  give  his  wife,  adored  liki 
youis,  an  income  of  thirty  thousand  francs,  and  whon: 
his  wife  denounced  that  she  might  be  rid  of  him  and 
free  to  love  another  man,  you  exclaimed,  and  other 
fools  who  were  supping  with  us  exclaimed  against 
me.  Well,  my  dear  Paul,  you  were  that  lawyer,  less 
the  galleys. 

Your  friends  here  are  not  sparing  you.  The  sister 
of  the  two  Vandenesses,  the  Marquise  de  Listomere 
and  all  her  set,  in  which,  by  the  bye,  that  little 
Rastignac  has  enrolled  himself,  — the  scamp  will 
make  his  way!  — Madame  d’Aiglemont  and  her  salon, 
the  Lenoncourts,  the  Comtesse  Ferraud,  Madame 
d Espard,  the  Nucingens,  the  Spanish  ambassador,  in 
short,  all  the  cliques  in  society  are  flinging  mud  upon 
you.  You  are  a bad  man,  a gambler,  a dissipated 
fellow  who  has  squandered  his  property.  After  pay- 
ing your  debts  a great  many  times,  your  wife,  an  angel 
of  virtue,  has  just  redeemed  your  notes  for  one  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  although  her  property  was  sep- 
arate from  yours.  Luckily,  you  had  done  the  best 
you  could  do  by  disappearing.  If  you  had  stayed 
here  you  would  have  made  her  bed  in  the  straw;  the 
poor  woman  would  have  been  the  victim  of  her 
conjugal  devotion! 

When  a man  attains  to  power,  my  dear  Paul,  he 
has  all  the  virtues  of  an  epitaph ; let  him  fall  into 
poverty,  and  he  has  more  sins  than  the  Prodigal  Son; 
society  at  the  present  moment  gives  you  the  vices  of 
a Don  Juan.  You  gambled  at  the  Bourse,  you  had 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


175 


lieus,  La  Roche-Hugon,  Serisy,  Feraud,  and  Granvdle, 
have  allied  ourselves  against  the  “parti-pretre,”  as 
the  party-ninny  represented  by  the  “Constitutionnel 
has  ingeniously  said.  We  intend  to  overturn  the 
Navarre, ins,  Lenoncourts,  Vandenesses,  and  the  Grand 
Almoi^y.  In  order  to  succeed  we  shall  even  ally  our- 
selve^ith  Lafayette,  the  Orleanists,  and  the  Left,  — 
people  whom  we  can  throttle  on  the  morrow  of  victory, 
for  no  government  in  the  world  is  possible  with  their 
principles.  We  are  capable  of  anything  for  the  good 
of  the  country  — and  our  own. 

Now,  then,  my  dear  Paul,  instead  of  setting  sail  for 
India  you  would  do  a much  wiser  thing  to  navigate 
with  me  the  waters  of  the  Seine.  Believe  me,  Paris 
is  still  the  place  where  fortune,  abundant  fortune,  can 
be  won.  Potosi  is  in  the  rue  Vivienne,  the  rue  de  la 
Paix,  the  Place  Vendome,  the  rue  de  Rivoli.  In  all 
other  places  and  countries  material  works  and  labors, 
marches  and  counter-marches,  and  sweatings  of  the 
brow  are  necessary  to  the  building  up  of  fortune;  but 
in  Paris  thought  suffices.  Here,  every  man  even 
mentally  mediocre,  can  see  a mine  of  wealth  as  he 
puts  on  his  slippers,  or  picks  his  teeth  after  dinner,  in 
his  down-sitting  and  his  up-rising.  Find  me  another 
place  on  the  globe  where  a good  round  stupid  idea 
brings  in  more  money,  or  is  sooner  understood  than 
it  is  here. 

If  I reach  the  top  of  the  ladder,  as  I shall,  am  I the 
man  to  refuse  you  a helping  hand,  an  influence,  a 
signature?  We  shall  want,  we  young  roues,  a faith- 
ful friend  on  whom  to  count,  if  only  to  compromise 
him  and  make  him  a scape-goat,  or  send  him  to  die 


176 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


like  a common  soldier  to  save  his  general.  Govern- 
ment is  impossible  without  a man  of  honor  at  one’s 
side,  in  whom  to  confide  and  with  whom  we  can  do  ' 
and  say  everything. 

Here  is  what  I propose.  Let  the  ‘ ‘ Belle- Amelie  ” 
sail  without  you;  come  back  here  like  a thunderbolt; 

I ’ll  arrange  a duel  for  you  with  Vandenesse  in  which 
you  shall  have  the  first  shot,  and  you  can  wing  him 
like  a pigeon.  In  France  the  husband  who  shoots  his 
rival  becomes  at  once  respectable  and  respected.  No 
one  ever  cavils  at  him  again.  Fear,  my  dear  fellow, 
is  a valuable  social  element,  a means  of  success  for 
those  who  lower  their  eyes  before  the  gaze  of  no  man 
living.  I who  care  as  little  to  live  as  to  drink  a glass 
of  milk,  and  who  have  never  felt  the  emotion  of  fear, 

I have  remarked  the  strange  effects  produced  by  that 
sentiment  upon  our  modern  manners.  Some  men 
tremble  to  lose  the  enjoyments  to  which  they  are 
attached,  others  dread  to  leave  a woman.  The  old 
adventurous  habits  of  other  days  when  life  was  flung 
away  like  a garment  exist  no  longer.  The  bravery 
of  a great  many  men  is  nothing  more  than  a clever 
calculation  on  the  fear  of  their  adversary.  The  Poles 
are  the  only  men  in  Europe  who  fight  for  the  pleasure 
of  fighting;  they  cultivate  the  art  for  the  art’s  sake, 
and  not  for  speculation. 

Now  hear  me:  kill  Vandenesse,  and  your  wife 
trembles,  your  mother-in-law  trembles,  the  public 
trembles,  and  you  recover  your  position,  you  prove 
your  grand  passion  for  your  wife,  you  subdue  society, 
you  subdue  your  wife,  you  become  a hero.  Such  is 
France.  As  for  your  embarrassments,  I hold  a hun- 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


177 


dred  thousand  francs  for  you ; you  can  pay  your  prin- 
cipal debts,  and  sell  what  property  you  have  left  with 
a power  of  redemption,  for  you  will  soon  obtain  an 
office  which  will  enable  you  by  degrees  to  pay  off  your 
creditors.  Then,  as  for  your  wife,  once  enlightened 
as  to  her  character  you  can  rule  her.  When  you  loved 
her  you  had  no  power  to  manage  her;  not  loving  her, 
you  will  have  an  unconquerable  force.  I will  under- 
take, myself,  to  make  your  mother-in-law  as  supple  as 
a glove ; for  you  must  recover  the  use  of  the  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  a year  those  two  women  have 
squeezed  out  of  you. 

Therefore,  I say,  renounce  this  expatriation  which 
seems  to  me  no  better  than  a pan  of  charcoal  or  a 
pistol  to  your  head.  To  go  away  is  to  justify  all 
calumnies.  The  gambler  who  leaves  the  table  to  get 
his  money  loses  it  when  he  returns ; we  must  have  our 
gold  in  our  pockets.  Let  us  now,  you  and  I,  be  two 
gamblers  on  the  green  baize  of  politics;  between  us 
loans  are  in  order.  Therefore  take  post-horses,  come 
back  instantly,  and  renew  the  game.  You  ’ll  win  it 
with  Henri  de  Ivlarsay  for  your  partner,  for  Henri  de 
Marsay  knows  how  to  will,  and  how  to  strike. 

See  how  we  stand  politically.  My  father  is  in  the 
British  ministry;  we  shall  have  close  relations  with 
Spain  through  the  Evangelistas,  for,  as  soon  as  your 
mother-in-law  and  I have  measured  claws  she  will  find 
there  is  nothing  to  gain  by  fighting  the  devil.  Mon- 
triveau  is  our  lieutenant-general;  he  will  certainly 
be  minister  of  war  before  long,  and  his  eloquence  will 
give  him  great  ascendency  in  the  Chamber.  Ron- 
querolles  will  be  minister  of  State  and  privy-coun- 

U 


178 


The  Marriage  Contract. 


cillor;  Martial  de  la  Koche-Hugon  is  minister  to 
Germany  and  peer  of  France;  Serisy  leads  the  Coun- 
cil of  State,  to  which  he  is  indispensable;  Granville 
holds  the  magistracy,  to  which  his  sons  belong ; the 
Grandlieus  stand  well  at  court;  Ferraud  is  the  soul 
of  the  Goiidreville  coterie,  — low  intriguers  who  are 
always  on  the  surface  of  things,  I m sure  I don  t 
know  why.  Thus  supported,  what  have  we  to  fear? 
The  money  question  is  a mere  nothing  when  this  great 
wheel  of  fortune  rolls  for  us.  What  is  a woman?  — 
you  are  not  a schoolboy.  What  is  life,  my  dear  fel- 
low, if  you  let  a woman  be  the  whole  of  it?  A boat 
you  can’t  command,  without  a rudder,  but  not  with- 
out a magnet,  and  tossed  by  every  wind  that  blows. 
Pah! 

The  great  secret  of  social  alchemy,  my  dear  Paul,  is 
lo  get  the  most  we  can  out  of  each  age  of  life  through 
which  we  pass ; to  have  and  to  hold  the  buds  of  our 
spring,  the  flowers  of  our  summer,  the  fruits  of  our 
autumn.  We  amused  ourselves  once,  a few"  good  fel- 
lows and  I,  for  a dozen  or  more  years,  like  mousque- 
taires,  black,  red,  and  gray;  we  denied  ourselves 
nothing,  not  even  an  occasional  filibustering  here  and 
there.  Now  we  are  going  to  shake  dowm  the  plums 
which  age  and  experience  have  ripened.  Be  one  of 
us ; you  shall  have  your  share  in  the  xjudding  we  are 
going  to  cook. 

Come;  you  will  find  a friend  all  yours  in  the  skin  of 

H.  DE  Marsay. 

As  Paul  de  Manerville  ended  the  reading  of  this 
letter,  which  fell  like  the  blows  of  a pickaxe  on  the 


hie  Marriage  Contract. 


179 


edifice  of  his  hopes,  his  illusions,  and  his  love,  the  ves- 
sel which  bore  him  from  France  was  beyond  the 
Azores.  In  the  midst  of  this  utter  devastation  a cold 
and  impotent  anger  laid  hold  of  him. 

What  had  I done  to  them  ? ’’  he  said  to  himself. 

That  is  the  question  of  fools,  of  feeble  beings,  who, 
seeing  nothing,  can  nothing  foresee.  Then  he  cried 
aloud:  “Henri!  Henri!”  to  his  loyal  friend.  Many 
a man  would  have  gone  mad ; Paul  went  to  bed  and 
slept  that  heavy  sleep  which  follows  immense  disas- 
ters, — the  sleep  that  seized  Napoleon  after  Waterloo. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


